


Futile The Winds

by Miss_Ash



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Modern AU, also please be warned that this fic deals with a COVID-esque virus outbreak, and a big ol' dose of phone flirting, but here we are, but other than that this is mainly just, i never thought this day would come, please operate with all due self-care if you're feeling anxiety on the topic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23310973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Ash/pseuds/Miss_Ash
Summary: A virus was felling people like trees on a logging site, the world was descending into such insanity that people were robbing pharmacies, and Melbourne was locking down in just under fourteen hours. In fourteen hours she’d be stuck, unable to get back home – home to where her house was, her people were, to where Jack was.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 274
Kudos: 203
Collections: QuarantApril





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I once told myself I'd never do a modern AU, the history nerd in me flat out refused the notion - despite how much I have very much enjoyed reading some of the excellent ones out there in the past. But it's the apocalypse, so I guess all bets are off.
> 
> Now I'm aware it's definitely too soon for this, in so many ways, so just a word of caution to anyone struggling with anxiety regarding virus topics that you might wanna sit this one out. However, since the world is shit, and we're all in isolation, I figure that if Phrack can pull through it then maybe they can pull all of us with them. I've made this about a fictional event/virus based off the real hell we're living in, and because things are dark enough these days I am checking my usual angst queen tendencies at the door. This is straight up hurt/comfort, guaranteed happy ending, because I figure that's what we all need right now. Not today, COVID, and not in front of our emotional support detectives. 
> 
> Also LeChatNoir1918 definitely suggested quarantine fic to me first, and I believe her version will be a) fluffier and b) smuttier, so you're definitely gonna wanna keep an eye out for that one - as well as the QuarantApril collection in general because I've no doubt there will be many delights arriving in there as well.

She hadn’t really wanted to go in the first place. 

Honestly, there was little Phryne despised more than the Outback – the emptiness, the heat, the complete lack of anything actually _happening_. It was beautiful, granted, and sometimes that same emptiness attracted her – the sheer vastness of it. Sometimes she wanted to pitch a tent and stay there staring at stars for a week just to map them all out in her head the way Melbourne’s glowing lights prevented. 

Being there because she had to be, though, was a different matter entirely. It might have been better if she’d been chasing down some fascinating intrigue, but the case itself had been pretty clear cut from start to finish. The pursuit of it had meant something to her client, however, and that was what had led her to pack a bag, send Jack a text about not missing her too much, and jump in her car. 

It didn’t matter if it was dull for her, it still mattered to someone, so she’d gone. 

She’d stopped halfway there to find a reply from Jack sitting waiting for her. 

_I’d say stay out of trouble, but I assume trouble is exactly why you’re going…_

She’d grinned, rolled her eyes, and typed a quick reply back before continuing. 

_Don’t know what you’re talking about, Inspector_ 😇😉

Despite herself, she found she’d missed him, though. That was part of the problem – even a dull case was more interesting if Jack was working it with her. It was annoying, and alarming, and probably part of the reason she’d gone, if she were being honest – just to prove to herself that she could still operate solo. And she had – proved it – she’d found her client’s real family, she’d reunited a child with a mother that had always wondered what happened to her, and it had been deeply satisfying even if it had all been wrapped up far too quickly and easily for her liking. 

She just also sort of wished Jack had been there with her. 

They’d spoken since she’d left, of course – Phryne had been trying not to dwell on how often they _did_ speak. Or the fact that their evening calls had become tradition without either of them ever having said a word about it. 

_That_ had started so long ago she could barely remember why or how it had even come about - but slowly it had just become a routine. 

*

_“You’re late.”_

_“I was arresting someone.”_

_“Ooh," Phryne hummed. “Anyone bad?”_

_She didn’t even need to see him to see the eye roll._

_“Public urination.”  
_

_“Charming,” she replied, pressing buttons to start her dinner heating._

_“Phryne, I swear to god if that’s the microwave...” Jack sighed from the other end of the phone, and she grinned._

_“Dot’s not back from Sydney yet, what else am I meant to do?”_

_“Learn to cook?” he quipped.  
_

_“I resent the implications that come with that, Jack,” she shot back, hopping up onto the kitchen counter and licking the sauce off her fork, smirking around the utensil as she did so. She did so love winding him up._

_“You know that’s not what I mean,” he said, serious.  
_

_“So, you don’t think I should learn to cook?”  
_

_“I think you should learn how not to get scurvy just because your PA is away.”_

_“But I have you for that, Jack,” she replied, innocent, smirking at the snort on the other end of the phone._

_“The only cooking I do that you’re interested in is biscuits.”_

_She gasped in exaggerated excitement. “Have you been baking? You better have saved me some.”_

_He chuckled at that. “Well, you might have to fight Collins for them.”_

_“Oh, well that’s no trouble - Dot’s away, he’s a weak target. At least give me a challenge, Jack.”_

_The microwave beeped and she hopped off the counter again, depositing the steaming contents into a bowl, shoulder keeping the phone to her ear._

_“Sounds like dinner’s ready.”_

_“Oh, you’re not getting out of it that easily, Inspector, I know you just got assigned those Docklands stranglings and I’m not hanging up until you tell me everything. So spill,” she added, briefly debating the merits of actually sitting to table with her dinner, and deciding that the kitchen counter would do just as well, sliding back up again.  
_

_“I’d ask how you know,” Jack responded with a long-suffering sigh that did nothing to hide his amusement. "But I’m not sure I want to be an accessory.”_

_She grinned, spearing a piece of pasta with her fork and popping it into her mouth._

_“Spill,” she repeated around it._

_Jack sighed. “Phryne, you know I can’t discuss a classified case with you. Not over the phone.”_

_Phryne shrugged. “Maybe you should come round then.”_

_“I have paperwork.”_

_“So tell me over the phone.”_

_“I prefer myself un-fired, thank you.”_

_“Oh,_ fine _,” she huffed. “I’ll find out myself.”_

_“I’ve no doubt,” he chuckled.  
_

_“Speak to you later?”_

_“Only if I don’t drown in my paperwork first.”_

_“I’m sure I could revive you,” she smirked, and she could practically hear the smile in his own voice when he answered._

_“I’ll count on it.”_

*

No, a different state had not been nearly far enough to stop them, as entrenched as the routine had become, but Jack’s cases had been piling up and her coverage had been less than ideal – something Jack hadn’t failed to stop teasing her about when his messages did get through – so their correspondence had been far from as frequent as she found herself used to. 

This, perhaps more than anything, had her chomping at the bit to get home again, and it was with a large sense of relief that she returned to her motel room to pack her things, ready to leave in the morning. 

She slept well that night, despite the heat, dreams on Melbourne, rain, the ever-thudding heartbeat of the busy city, full of life, mystery, excitement. She might even have dreamt of Jack, the warm familiarity of his voice and his smile, but when she woke – in a better mood than she’d been since she’d left – all memory of her night time musings fell away at the sight of her phone. 

It was sitting beside her pillow, screen bursting with notifications, and the sight of them all sent a sharp spike of concern through her which only began to flare when she looked closer. 

She had twenty-two missed calls. 

Twelve from Dot. 

Nine from Mac. 

One from Jack. 

There were messages, though, texts and voicemails and – now she looked – news notifications as well. 

Phryne swallowed, rubbing at her tired eyes and sitting up properly, opening the urgent news article first - sure it would give some kind of blanket context to whatever it was that had her friends frantically contacting her. 

When she saw the headline though, she froze. 

**CASES OF THAI FLU QUADRUPLE OVERNIGHT IN MELBOURNE AS FIRST DEATHS REPORTED. PREMIER ANNOUNCES PLANNED LOCKDOWN OF CITY IN BID TO CONTAIN VIRUS.**

Phryne’s heart sped up. 

Quickly, she navigated to her voicemail, selecting the one from Jack, and taking a breath before pressing play.

_“Telstra, Phryne, they’re a service provider. I recommend trying them. Very helpful when you have a penchant for taking off to the middle of nowhere…”_

Phryne rolled her eyes, unable to help the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, the tension in her easing. 

Well, Jack seemed fine. 

She selected the first of the several messages from Dot.

_“Hi, sorry, I know it’s late – although Jack mentioned you don’t have service so that’s probably why you’re not answering – but Mac says that this flu is kicking off and we might all have to isolate so I’m making you shepherd’s pie for when you get back. I’ll put it in the freezer for you, and I’m going to fetch your dry-cleaning in case you don’t have time when you're home.”_

Phryne’s smile widened. The girl was an absolute treasure. She played the next one. 

_“Okay, there’s shepherd’s pie, a bolognese but you’re cooking your own pasta because I flat out refuse to freeze it, it’s disgusting, and I did some Anzac biscuits – I know mine aren’t as good as Jack’s but you’ll have to manage. Do_ not _eat it all at once, Mac’s told me that we might be looking at shutdowns, and you’re miserable when you’re hungry. I’ll call back when I know more, speak to you soon, hopefully.”_

She shook her head fondly and pressed play on the last one. 

_“God, I really hope you got Mac’s message last night and started back, they’re talking about locking down the city, Phryne, you need to get back here as soon as you can. Please text me when you get this? I’m gonna message you too in case that works better. Just please check in as soon as you can? Okay, I’m going to stop sounding like my mother now just… just be safe. Okay, bye”._

Phryne felt her panic reignite in her chest, selecting the first of two messages from Mac.

_“Darling, I don’t know if you’re seeing the news, but speaking as someone in the know - you need to get back here. ASAP. This is only going to get worse and they’ll no doubt have to start quarantines before too long. Call me when you get this so I know you’re on the way.”_

She checked the time stamp, cursing as she realised the message had been from the previous afternoon. 

Jack might have a point about her choice in service provider, loath as she was to admit it. 

She threw back the covers, jumping from the bed and crossing to grab her clothes, pressing play on the second message and then tossing her phone back as she began to change. 

_“First of all, if you don’t get Telstra when this is over, I’m going to steal Jack’s gun and personally escort you to the store at gunpoint. Secondly,_ leave, _as soon as you get this. They’re locking down from midnight tomorrow, Phryne, and God knows how long it’ll be before they let you back in after that. I don’t… Listen, I don’t know how much Jack’s told you despite my threats so just don’t panic, okay? I’ve got him, Phryne, I’m on it, but you need… just get back, alright? Love you.”_

The words sent a sharp splinter of fear through her, and Phryne stopped halfway through buttoning her blouse, staring at the now silent phone. 

What did Mac mean ‘how much Jack had told her’? What did that even...

She crossed back to the bed, picking it up and scrolling back to his message. 

She pressed play again. 

_“Telstra, Phryne, they’re a service provider. I recommend trying them. Very helpful when you have a penchant for taking off to the middle of nowhere.”_

There was a significant pause, one that had made her think the message had been done, in her half-awake state, not bothering to look properly. 

The recording said '1:29' though, and she realised with a curling sensation of worry in her stomach that there was significantly more of the message to go, just as Jack’s voice returned to break the silence. 

_“Everyone’s worried about you getting back in time if they lock down the city, but if you get this I think you should consider staying away. I… it’s madness here, Phryne. Mac’s just seeing it from a Doctor’s perspective, and she feels she can protect us all better if we’re where she can treat us but… everyone’s acting like animals. I’ve got five people in lock up for stealing toilet paper._ Toilet paper. _God knows what it’ll be next.”_

Another pause, so long that Phryne checked the message wasn’t over, but there were still forty-three seconds blinking at her, waiting to be heard. 

_“I don’t… look, I wouldn’t even mention it if Mac hadn’t threatened me with bodily harm, but… I got called out to help on an arrest this morning - hand sanitiser, if you can even believe it - and it was… Well, he has it, just confirmed half an hour ago, so I have to self-isolate now. It doesn’t mean I have it, I barely touched him. It’s just a precaution. I expect I’ll be fine. Damn, look, the Super’s calling so I should… but please think about staying where you are. God, I hope you get this in time, just… stay safe, alright? I’ll text you.”_

Phryne stared down at her phone, frozen, processing. 

Melbourne was locking down in – she finally stirred herself to actually check the time on her phone, noting with horror that it was just past ten. 

The curling panic flared, roaring through her as full realisation hit. Jack… Jack was in isolation, potentially infected with a virus that was felling people like trees on a logging site, the world was descending into such insanity that people were robbing pharmacies, and Melbourne was locking down in just under fourteen hours. 

In fourteen hours she’d be stuck, unable to get back home – home to where her house was, her people were, to where Jack was – isolated or not. In fourteen hours she’d be cut off from it all altogether. 

And she was fifteen hours away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those outside of Australia, Telstra is a phone network known for having widest coverage. They also had an ad campaign with the slogan 'You don't need Australia's best network, until you do' and lemme tell you... I found out how right that was the very, very hard way.


	2. Chapter 1

It had been an odd few days, so odd that when they culminated in a clinical phone call from the hospital and instructions to self-isolate Jack found he wasn’t even hugely phased by it. 

At least he’d be away from the pharmacy thieves. 

He wasn’t overly concerned about getting sick, either – he was fit and healthy in all other regards, and his contact with the man had been minimal – but it made sense to stay quarantined, just in case. 

What worried him more was Phryne. 

He knew that Mac and Dot had been panicking about her getting home, and he understood it – God knew this madness would feel that bit less terrifying in general were she here facing it down with them – but she was safer where she was. 

If anywhere could stay safe from this virus, surely it was a small town in the Outback. She’d tear her hair out, of course, the boredom driving her to the edge of distraction, but it was better than her getting sick. 

That idea didn’t bear thinking about, even if she was as likely to breeze through it as him. 

It wasn’t that he liked her being gone – on the contrary – the days since he’d woken up to a text that she was buggering off to Queensland to follow a lead on someone’s long lost mother and not to miss her too much had been nothing but dull. 

They’d spoken, her first night away, and it had filled him with a familiar thrill of joy to see her name lighting up his phone as he walked through the door to his flat after too many hours stuck at his desk.

*

_“I thought you were in Queensland.”_

_“New South Wales,” she corrected. “I’m not doing a fifteen-hour drive all in one day, Jack, even I have my limits.”_

_“Could you say that again so I can record it for future arguments?”_

_She laughed, and the sound washed over him like a balm, lifting the stresses of the day from his shoulders and bringing a smile to his face. “You should be so lucky.”_

_When she got back, he thought, he might need to finally tell her how utterly he adored her._

_“Jack?” her voice came from the other end, high-pitched in that specific tone she used to tease him. He tossed his keys on the kitchen top, kicked off his shoes, and shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it up._

_“Yes?”_

_“You miss me yet?”_

_“More than I can stand,” he quipped, collapsing onto his sofa with a smirk. “I’m positively lost without you.”_

_“Liar,” she shot back, tone still joking. “You’ve been secretly thinking what a relief it is to have had a day to catch up on paperwork in peace.”_

_He chuckled, “It has been an almost concerningly productive day, you’re right. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you anyway.”_

_“Hmm,” she murmured, pensive. “I suppose I’ll take it.”_

_He listened to her breathe for a moment of comfortable silence, enjoying just the knowledge of her being there. It was a habit they’d started a while into their developing phone one – when they were too tired or perhaps too busy to pay full attention to each other – leaving the call open just so the other was there, even if they didn’t speak._

_“Tired?” he asked, and heard her stretch, humming an agreement._

_“Mm, been a long drive.”_

_“How much more tomorrow?”_

_“Only about six hours, I wanted to get most of it done today.”_

_“You could have flown, you know,” he pointed out, knowing what the answer would be before she even spoke it._

_“I like driving – and it’s barely worth it to get the old girl out just to go to southern Queensland.”_

_“Just so long as you get a good night’s sleep before you drive again.” Her driving had always been somewhat of a cause of stress to him – there’d been an incident, earlier in their friendship, where it had nearly broken them apart – but he’d long come to terms with the fact that Phryne drove how Phryne wanted to drive, and it was not something that was up for negotiation (either with him, or foolish things like the law). Besides, once he’d got over the brief heartbreak of thinking she’d died and calmed down a bit, he realised that, despite appearances, Phryne didn’t have an_ actual _death wish, so he just had to trust that that would keep her as safe as his heart wanted her._

_“I don’t think that’ll be a problem, I could fall asleep right now.”_

_“Don’t let me stop you,” he joked fondly, and he heard her start moving around._

_“Don’t go anywhere,” her voice came, echoey, like she’d moved away from the phone._

_“God forbid,” he mumbled to himself, trusting that speaker and her new distance would render the words too quiet for her to actually hear._

_“What was that?” she asked, voice suddenly closer again._

_“Nothing.” He shook himself. “Where did you go?”_

_“Wanted to change and get into bed before I do actually fall asleep. I was briefly naked, but you missed it.”_

_A smirk pulled up the corner of his lips and he leaned his head back against the sofa. This was a game they’d been playing so comically long he no longer cared to count the times they’d danced to the edge and tripped back again. There had been reasons, scattered along the road, why they’d never quite made it to the fall, but the more time passed the less Jack had come to find they mattered._

_Once upon a time – as an infatuated newlywed, then again, briefly, at the start of divorce proceedings – he had thought that love meant marriage. He had believed that it represented the absolute apex of everything he valued most – love, loyalty, commitment. Slowly, though, that definition had changed. One day he had opened the dictionary of his heart and found that his definition of love was just_ her _, with no date listed for when the amendment had been made._

_After he’d realised that it had just become a matter of waiting for the right moment to let her know he wasn’t afraid anymore, that he was hers if she wanted him. All he’d ask in return was that if she chose to take him, she took him only, and if she couldn’t then they’d just stay as they were._

_He’d been ready a while, but in the comfort of their routines he’d never quite found the moment. There seemed something a little unromantic about confessing your love down the phone, or even in her parlour over the rim of whiskey glasses they held so often. Some foolish, old fashioned part of him had wanted it to be special._

_Now she was away though, and the distance made it feel like the words might just bubble out of him._

_Especially when she came out with comments like that._

_Perhaps he didn’t have to outright confess his love before letting her know he was ready. Perhaps he just leapt._

_He broke the silence._

_“Pity,” he breathed, swallowing, shoring himself. “When you’re back we’ll just have to arrange a repeat viewing.”_

_There was a rustle on the other end, then nothing, and he felt himself panic. Or, he scolded himself, perhaps he just stuck his foot in it._

_“Phryne?”_

_“Hmm? What was that?” her reply came, mumbled and sleepily. “No, I’ll drive safe, I promise.”_

_Jack sighed._

_“Go to sleep, Phryne.”_

_“Don’t go,” the words were still sleepy, but no less authoritative. Only Phryne Fisher, he decided, could be so commanding semi-conscious._

_“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, switching his phone to speaker and reaching for the nearest book on his coffee table. She had no idea how true those words really were, but when she got back, he resolved, he was absolutely going to tell her, come what may. “I’m not going anywhere at all.”_

*

The further she’d gone, of course, the worse her coverage had got, and communication had become progressively harder. 

If he had a dollar for every time he’d told her to get bloody Telstra. 

She’d texted him when she’d left the following morning. 

_Setting off, sorry for falling asleep on you! Speak later? Px_

He’d smiled and sent off a quick response.

_Don’t worry I won’t take it personally. Drive safe x_

Then he had decidedly not worried when he’d tried to call her once he was home again and it had gone straight to voicemail, but breathed in the most profound relief when a message had finally come through. 

_Here but signal is shit. I hate the bloody outback, already can’t wait to be home xx_

And that was practically the last he’d heard from her. The odd message had got through here and there, and he’d responded, though assumed she wouldn’t necessarily receive it. 

Then everything had kicked off with the damn virus and, of course, nothing seemed to be getting through at all. 

He sent her a few messages, then gave up on the uncertainty of knowing whether they’d be delivered or not and decided to just try calling instead. Unsurprisingly, it had gone straight to voicemail, and as he listened to the recorded message, he couldn’t help but lose his patience. He loved her God knew, but if she weren’t so damn _stubborn_ , maybe he’d actually have been able to speak to her, instead of her mailbox. 

He was still part way through what he expected was actually a reasonably garbled and incoherent message when the Superintendent called, and he cursed, aloud and internally – though one considerably worse than the other.

He hastily finished the message, then accepted the incoming call. 

“Detective Inspector Robinson,” he answered. 

“Ah, Robinson,” his Super, Jones, greeted. “Glad, I got you. I heard about the unfortunate incident today and I wanted to say on behalf of the force – ”

“You can cut the bureaucratic nonsense, sir, I won’t be suing anyone,” Jack cut him off with a grim smile. “There was a whole squad of us in attendance – it was just luck of the draw.” 

There was a pause on the other end, then Jones cleared his throat, “Right, good, well then. You’re a good man, Robinson, and a damn fine cop at that. You take care of yourself, and we’ll see you back at Spencer Street when this is all cleared up, hm?” 

Jack nodded. “Yes, sir, thank you, sir. I would appreciate a clearance to have some files checked out, though, I have paperwork I can be doing, and I’ll need access to the VPN organised – if you could clear that with IT?” 

“Consider it done – tell Collins what you need and I’ll have him drop them at your door tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Jack repeated, glad to have one thing squared away at least. 

“Thank _you_ , Robinson – I’ll check in next week.” 

“Stay safe, sir,” Jack said, then blinked, wondering when and how that had become a standard farewell. 

The world really had gone mad. 

With that he sighed, returning to his messages. He stared at the stream of little blue bubbles, all sitting sent, and started typing out another message. Then he shook his head, deleting it all and letting out a groan of frustration, tossing his phone onto the sofa, and collapsing after it himself.

He’d said his piece, given his opinion. Whether she listened – or even received it – was all another matter. For all he knew she could be back already, though he doubted she would have been back within range so long without contacting him. 

Maybe she’d been planning to surprise him, though – it wouldn’t be the first time, after all – and that thought worried him more, even as the memory of the occasion in question filled him with warmth.

*

_“So, when does your plane leave?”_

_“Oh, in a couple of hours, I get home about half midnight your time.”_

_“To the airport or home home?” he asked, pouring coffee into his to-go mug and screwing on the cap._

_“Home home,” she replied as he shrugged on his suit jacket, picking up the phone again, switching her off speaker and bringing it back to his ear. “But I’m still going to miss it, I’m so sorry.”_

_“Why are you sorry?” he asked, pausing to take a sip of coffee, genuinely curious. “It’s hardly your fault your original flight got cancelled.”_

_“Oh, I know_ that _,” she shot back. “It doesn’t mean I’m not terribly disappointed I’m missing your birthday party, though.”_

_He rolled his eyes. “I don’t even generally celebrate my birthday, you’re the one who organised the thing in the first place.”_

_“And I’m devastated to be missing it,” she repeated the sentiment, the pout audible. “I throw an excellent party, Jack.”_

_“I’ll be sure to enjoy it on your behalf then,” he affirmed with a smirk, gaze travelling to the clock and cursing under his breath._

_“Running late?” she asked, and he could_ hear _the shit-eating grin at the knowledge she’d distracted him enough to induce tardiness._

_“I’ll make it,” he shot back, determined not to let her win this round, and quickly pocketed his car keys. “Watch me.”_

_“Oh, I shall,” she replied, oddly breathless. “I bet you five bucks you won’t though.”_

_“Awfully confident, Miss Fisher, considering you’re not here to see precisely how close to leaving I am.”_

_“I’ll take my chances,” she purred._

_Jack shifted the coffee in his hand, walking towards the front door._

_“Fine then, five bucks, you’re on.”_

_He pulled it open, and nearly dropped his coffee._

_“Surprise!” she called, grinning, too smug for words, too beautiful for sanity, hand lowering her phone from her ear._

_“Fu-Phryne!” he exclaimed, blinking back at her in surprise._

_“Happy birthday,” she said by way of reply, jumping forward to wrap her arms around him. “You owe me five bucks,” she added then, a soft breath in his ear, and he finally stirred himself into hugging her back._

_He had been late for work – the first time in more years than he could count – but, he’d decided as he snuck past the Super’s office and shook his head at a confused looking Collins before he could even ask, it had been more than worth it._

_Phryne, increasingly, always seemed worth it._

*

He went to bed that night nervous and didn’t feel much better in the morning – the wait to hear from her feeling almost interminable. 

His morning passed slowly, the realities of his isolation starting to sink in. Dot, bless her, had already texted him saying she’d bring groceries and leave them that afternoon, and Collins was due to be bringing his files by, so at least by the afternoon he could work. 

The stillness of his phone, though, was such that he found he couldn’t settle in the slightest. At eight fifteen he made himself a coffee, then at eight fifty he poured away the cold, untouched liquid and brewed himself another one. He picked up a book and started reading, but quickly realised it was the same book of poetry he’d been reading the night she’d left – when she’d fallen asleep on the phone to him – and he couldn’t escape the memory of her soft breathing down the line as he’d read, insistently echoing around in his brain. 

At nine twenty he poured away the undrunk half of the second coffee and made himself a chamomile tea instead. Then he opened his laptop and stared at his emails, willing something there to catch his interest and hold it until such a time as he heard anything. 

There was nothing though, arrest reports for the ever-growing list of shoplifters, an interdepartmental memo about handwashing, and a blanket statement about the Victoria Police’s response to the virus crisis which he read end to end three times before groaning and shutting the laptop again. 

He picked up his phone and unlocked it, staring at the undisturbed text chain with a sigh. 

“Where the hell are you?” he asked her name on his screen, then closed his eyes and ran a frustrated hand over his face. 

She would get in contact when she could, he _knew_ that, but he wasn’t sure the wait wasn’t going to drive him completely insane in the meantime. 

Finally, though, at seven minutes to twelve, a plate of cold toast on his lap – Jack’s phone started ringing. 

He grabbed it up so fast that the toast fell to the floor.

“Phryne?” he demanded, frantic. “Where are you? Tell me you’re not in Melbourne.”

“Jack!” she exclaimed, and he noted with both relief and amusement that her voice was full of admonishment, though the line was crackly. “Are you an idiot? What are you doing tussling with shoplifters during an epidemic? Have you _no_ sense of self-preservation?”

He let out a soft chuckle – more just in relief at hearing her voice than anything. “Hello, pot? This is kettle.”

“I have never done anything as stupid as getting myself infected with a deadly virus, Jack! What were you _thinking_?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I was thinking, ‘gosh, I wish people would stop acting like it’s the damn apocalypse and robbing chemists’. And also that I didn’t happen to know that he _was_ infected.”

“Well you should have been more careful!” He noted, with not a little surprise, that her tone was about as frantic as he himself had been feeling. 

“Phryne?” he asked, voice gentler. “Where are you? You haven’t come back, have you?”

“I’m on my way.”

Jack’s heart leapt to his throat. “Then you need to turn around, you’re safer staying away.”

She scoffed. “Fat chance.”

“Phryne,” Jack warned. “Go back. Or go somewhere else. Hell, escape to a tropical island whilst there are still flights, and wait until this is all over – there’s no point coming back now.”

There was a beeping as the connection dropped out, then Phryne’s voice flowed back through the speaker.

“...and if you think for a second that I’m just going to run away and hide somewhere whilst you’re sick then – ”

“I’m not sick,” he interrupted. “We don’t even know for sure that I’m infected.”

“Jack, they’re saying this is more contagious than SARS, if you had contact with him there’s an extremely high chance that you are.”

“That’s still not a good enough reason for you to put yourself at risk,” he insisted, frustrated. Why, oh why, did she have to be so damn stubborn?

“Well that’s my decision, Jack, and you’re not going to persuade me. I’m coming home,” she snapped, the words sounding strangely distant from the poor signal. 

“Phryne…” he started, just short of despairing, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Where are you?”

There was a brief moment’s silence where he wondered if the signal had dropped again, and then she spoke. 

“I’m just coming through Currawinya National Park.”

Jack blinked, surprised. He’d half expected her to say she was at his front door. 

He hated that a part of him was disappointed that that wasn’t the case. 

“You’re… still in Queensland?”

“Barely, I’m about to cross the border.”

“Phryne,” Jack leant his head back against the sofa, eyes falling closed. “If you’ve only just crossed the border there’s no way you’re going to be back in time.”

“Watch me.”

“Even if there _was_ enough time, you can’t do all that driving in one day, you’ll be exhausted.”

“I’m not going to,” her voice came, firm, despite the wavering of the connection. “I’m going to get to Griffith and then I’ll fly.”

He let out a groan, annoyed. “Phryne, please listen to me. You need to stay away. Please.”

“Jack, I’m not going to – ”

“ _Please,_ ” he repeated, with enough fervour that she stopped, and he jumped at the opening, putting as much emotion as he could into his next words, desperate for her to take them seriously. “Please, Phryne,” he breathed, a whispered plea. “Please, for once, can you just keep yourself out of trouble? Can you just keep yourself safe? Just this once, Phryne... for me?”

“Jack,” she murmured, a soft exhalation, and for a moment he almost thought she might concede and then, “I can’t… I don’t… I have to at least try. I have to.”

“Why?” he demanded, suddenly furious. “What could possibly be _so_ important it’s worth wading into an epidemic? Why would you ever want to put yourself at risk like that?”

The moment of silence at the other end seemed, for the briefest minute, like victory. 

Then his phone beeped at him, and the line went dead. 

He tried to redial, but it went straight to voicemail, and Jack let out a small shout of frustration, throwing his phone across the sofa. 

If she made it back and got herself sick, he was absolutely going to kill her. 

He sighed, staring at his phone in irritation for a moment before reaching over and scooping it up again, typing out a message and staring at it for several seconds before taking a steadying breath and hitting send. 

_I just need you safe, Phryne. More than anything, I need you to stay safe._

Then he sat back and stared at the quiet phone screen, waiting. 

Eleven minutes passed, and then the screen lit up in his hand, making his heart leap to his throat. 

_And I need to be there, Jack. I can’t run and hide any more than you could._

He took a shaky breath, angered by her sheer bullheadedness. She was right, of course – he knew, if the situation were reversed, he’d be doing exactly the same. It didn’t make it any easier, though. It didn’t make the thought of her here, in amongst all the panic and the sickness, any better. 

Phryne was nothing if not determined, though, and if she’d made her mind up to come back then, God knew, nothing would stop her. 

Time and distance were no match for the will of Phryne Fisher – all he could do was hope that she’d come out of the battle with them unscathed. 


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well 'tis now officially QuarantApril. The world continues to be awful, so for what it's worth let me send my love, and say I hope everyone is doing okay in themselves and keeping safe!

Phryne wasn’t sure, exactly, how she was ever going to make it back in time – all she knew was that there was no chance in hell she wasn’t going to try, whatever Jack said. 

She’d barely stopped for breath before jumping in her car – and it was only after she’d been driving for twenty minutes that she realised she’d never even finished buttoning her shirt. Every so often she had picked up her phone to see if she had enough signal to call – but the national park scuppered all possibility of that, so it hadn’t been until she was nearly at the New South Wales border that her phone had finally started working again. She’d sent off quick texts to Mac and Dot, and then she’d immediately called Jack. 

Though that hadn’t really gone so well. 

She knew he was angry with her, knew he thought she was being ridiculous, but in all honesty she didn’t care. 

He could be as cross as he liked, it wasn’t going to change the fact that she flat out refused to just run away and hide when the virus barely even posed a threat to her. She couldn’t help anyone by hiding, and she knew that underneath his own panic, Jack knew that too. 

Not to say that she didn’t appreciate his concern. 

On the contrary, his stubborn insistence that she keep herself safe before anything else warmed something deep inside her, his passionate pleas leaving her moved if not swayed. 

When his text had come through, she’d pulled over to check and found herself grinning stupidly at words that were about as close to a confession as he’d ever come. It had even made her wonder if it meant he might, finally, be ready to pursue something. To pursue _her_. 

Phryne knew Jack’s divorce had taken a toll on him, knew that the crumbling of his preconceived notions about love and marriage had not been an easy thing for him to bear. She also knew that in his mind she had always been too much trouble, her morals on the subject too misaligned with his own, to pursue romantically. 

And she hadn’t really been all that interested in romance, so that had worked rather well for her. 

She had often found herself wishing that his morals might slip enough that he’d at least consider some sort of friends with benefits arrangement – deeply attracted to him as she found herself – but ultimately she knew he didn’t work like that, so she’d settled for just friendship and been very content with that. She’d rather have him in her life than in her bed, after all, much as she might greatly enjoy the latter. 

Then, something had happened that had alarmed her. 

Then she’d got jealous – and everything had tilted slightly on its axis. 

*

_“Jack!” she sing-songed, drenched in all the innocence she decidedly did not have. “What can I do for you?”_

_“Phryne, did you tell Angela Lombard we were sleeping together?” Jack’s tone was unamused – the kind of unamused she wasn’t altogether sure charm was going to get her out of. She bit her lip, collapsing onto her window seat, fingers finding the edges of the curtains and starting to fiddle._

_“No,” she told him, eyes on the gauze wrapped around her fingers, “...but I also didn’t_ not _tell her that.”_

_The sigh that came from the other end was long-suffering._

_“Why on earth would you do that?” he demanded._

_She smirked, hoping that inserting a little playfulness into her tone might help calm him down. “To defend your honour?”_

_It didn’t work. “Well I’d say that backfired rather.”_

_Her smile fell away. “Why?”_

_“She told the Super.”_

_“She_ what _?” Phryne demanded, fingers stilling in their fidgeting. “Why would she do that?”_

_“Maybe because someone goaded her into it?” Jack shot back, clearly not believing her surprise – a fact that she found irritated her._

_“I didn’t goad her into anything! She made a comment I took exception to, so I merely made an observation of my own in response. I returned the serve, so to speak.”_

_“Well whatever you said it annoyed her enough that she felt the need to snitch to my boss.”_

_Phryne sighed. “Well how was I to know she’d act like a five-year-old about it? You can’t blame me for that, Jack.”_

_“Why did you even bother engaging with it in the first place?” he asked, sounding frustrated. “What did she say that was so important you had to start making false implications?”_

_Phryne paused. There was no real easy way to answer that question – since the answer was both ridiculous, and somewhat revealing._

_She hadn’t known, after all, that she felt quite so proprietary over Jack, until she’d been standing opposite a beautiful athlete making implications. Jack’s love life post-divorce had been such a non-issue that she hadn’t realised the idea of him having one actually bothered her so._

_But it had bothered her. A_ lot _._

_“I had to do an awful lot of fast talking to convince him that she was just making assumptions and not have him ban you from even entering the building, Phryne, so I want to know what was so damn important that you felt the need to lie in response?”_

_She licked her lips. She wasn’t even sure what her annoyance meant_ herself _, had barely had the time to really analyse it – she hardly felt like admitting that she’d told a stranger he was fucking her because of a totally unexpected surge of jealousy._

_That wouldn’t do at all._

_“She… well it was… ” but for once she could think of nothing. No smart comeback, no clever excuse. She couldn’t think of a single decent reason for the lie._

_None except her raging jealousy._

_“Did you sleep with her?” she blurted instead, sidestepping. “Angela?”_

_She could almost hear Jack’s surprise at the question. “Did I… of course I didn’t! Why would I do that?”_

_“Oh, I don’t know,” Phryne shrugged, annoyance rising. “She’s young, she’s hot, she’s a professional athlete, and most men I know would probably jump at the chance to shag her. And she was_ clearly _interested, so I’m just asking the obvious, Jack.”_

 _“Well the answer’s_ no _,” he replied, sounding just as irritated. “Although I don’t really see what business it is of yours.”_

_And that? That stung far more than she could even have expected._

_“You’re right,” she snapped back, feeling abruptly done with the conversation. Done with him, done with this, and done with her own stupid emotions on the matter. “It isn't my business at all. Fuck whoever you like, Jack.”_

_And she hung up on him, throwing her phone down with a small cry of frustration._

_She wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much – after all, Jack was right, his sex life really wasn’t any of her business. He tended to keep his nose out of hers, she should be affording him the same courtesy._

_Only, her sex life had been increasingly dull of late, distracted as she’d been with her favourite Detective Inspector. More often than not she found that, given the option of having a stranger between her legs or spending time with Jack, she would choose his quiet smiles and sharp mind over an indeterminate chance of an orgasm._

_The orgasm was often guaranteed later, anyway, fingers between her legs and mind on the feel of Jack’s hands on her body – chaste as his touches might always have been outside of her own fantasies._

_Now that she actually came to think about it, Phryne realised with mild dismay that it had been weeks since she’d come with anything other than Jack’s name on her tongue – whether he’d put it there himself or not._

_She’d always thought that she didn’t mind things being mainly platonic with Jack. She was completely uninterested in having a relationship, he was uninterested in casual sex, and they worked so beautifully as friends that it had always seemed easy to leave the clear physical attraction they shared as unspoken subtext and generic banter, both of them knowing it would never really go any further. And if she indulged in the odd fantasy in the meantime, it wasn't like it hurt anyone.  
_

_The problem was, she realised with shock, letting go of the curtain fabric that had still been encasing her fingers, that as uninterested as she might always have been in relationships, as reluctant as she’d always been to committing herself to any one man on demand, she had become – quite without awareness or intent – really quite committed to Jack._

_Maybe half because of the fact he’d never asked her to be._

_Her phone buzzed from where she’d thrown it, and Phryne stayed stock still for a moment as she processed this information before reaching to retrieve it and answering the ringing._

_“I haven’t forgiven you,” Jack prefaced before she could say anything. “But I do need your signature on this statement, so you can come in and do it now, or I’ll bring it by on my way home.”_

_“I’ll come,” she responded, swallowing down the urge to start blurting everything that had just occurred to her over the last few minutes. It was as close to an olive branch as she could get for the time being, her emotions still haywire. “I’ll come and do it now.”_

_“Oh,” was Jack’s response – clearly having still expected her rage. “Well… okay then.”_

_“Unless you want to come over?” And her heart thudded in her ears as she awaited his response._

_“Do you want me to?”_

_“Yes.”_

_She heard Jack fidget at the other end, clearly debating how angry he still was with her, and how fast he felt like letting it go._

_He sighed. “Alright. I’ll be by about seven.”_

_Phryne let out a breath she’d barely registered herself holding. “Do you want to eat?” She hoped he’d take it for the apology it was, hoped he’d take up the offer, hoped – as stupid as it was – that he really hadn’t been interested in Angela Lombard._

_She hoped that he might start coming around to the idea that commitment could be more than just a ring._

_“That depends,” he hummed, and there was warmth back in it that flooded her with relief._

_“What on?”_

_“Are you cooking it in a microwave?”_

_She grinned. “Where else?”_

_“Then how could I possibly say no?”_

*

That had been it – the day she’d realised she was a little (or maybe more than a little, but she was easing herself into the idea) in love with Jack. 

She hadn’t really done anything about it, of course – her realisation aside, they still had widely different approaches to these things. Jack was a marriage person, after all, and she decidedly wasn’t. Monogamy, she could handle – if she were the one volunteering to it – but marriage? That was a line she wasn’t sure she would, or could, ever cross. 

As far as she was aware, that was sort of a dealbreaker for Jack Robinson. 

There was a part of her, small but none the less hopeful, that wondered if he might be moving on the topic – but in these matters she often found Jack about as readable as a Japanese dictionary, so the only way to know for sure would be to ask. And that was certainly not something she felt inclined to do, not considering the disastrous consequences it could carry for their friendship – forget the mortification if he said no.

It was bad enough that she'd done something as ridiculous as falling in love with him in the first place, she was hardly about to start begging. Not outright, at least. There had been moments since where she'd been almost unable to keep it in, to choke down the intensity of her emotions, but she'd done her best to paint smiles over it and continue as normal. And if she'd been a little more overt in her desire for him in the meantime - well either he'd finally decide that marriage didn't matter and take her up on the offer, or else she could chalk it down to banter. They were well versed in it, after all.

Phryne sighed, returning her attention to her phone and trying to type out her response to his message. She found herself rewriting it three or four times, though, huffing at each version and deleting it. There were so many things she wanted to say in response. That she wanted him safe, too. That she’d be careful, but that she couldn’t not try. 

For a solid twenty seconds she’d just stared at the words: _You’re worth wading through a thousand epidemics, idiot_ – but that felt far too much like putting her heart on the line, and now really wasn’t the time for that even if she had felt inclined to do so. Which she still didn’t, particularly – not right now, and not at the risk of their friendship. 

Finally, she settled for something true, but down to earth – something he couldn’t argue with. Then she’d thrown her phone back onto the passenger seat and set off again, fingers tight around the steering wheel and foot pressed firmly to the floor. 

She was definitely going to be receiving some speeding tickets, but she didn’t altogether care. 

The drive was quiet, though, and she could only assume virus panic was keeping people off the roads. It helped her cause as far as speed was concerned, but the absolute lack of distractions, the empty road ahead of her, did nothing for her peace of mind. All she could focus on was her own panic, on the thought of being stuck, unable to get home. On the thought of poor, kind Dot – trying her best to help everyone from a distance whilst no doubt cripplingly afraid. On Mac on the front lines, putting herself at risk by both choice and obligation. On Jack, alone, and as yet indeterminately threatened by this faceless evil. 

The idea of him getting sick was one that tugged at her, churning her stomach into knots. There’d been the odd occasion, throughout their acquaintance, where he’d been in mild peril – but nothing altogether that serious – and the thought of him being in any kind of serious danger made her chest tight. 

She was normally the one in trouble, inclined as she was towards risk, and she had always been amused (if touched) by his oddly protective frustration over it. Now, though, she finally felt she might understand it better.

*

_“What happened?” His voice was frantic, and Phryne found herself a little surprised by it._

_“It’s nothing,” she insisted, wincing as she collapsed onto her chaise lounge. It was nothing, really, just a couple of broken ribs. “It was just a tiny fall.”_

_“From a third story window,” Jack shot back. “And it wasn’t a fall, Phryne, someone pushed you.”_

_“He didn’t mean for me to actually_ fall _, though,” she countered, lying her head against the arm of the chaise. “He was just trying to warn me off – the falling part was an accident.”_

_“Well he can tell that to a jury of his peers,” Jack grumbled, and Phryne felt her mouth fall open._

_“You arrested him?”_

_“Of course I arrested him, Phryne! Pushing someone out of a window is attempted murder.”_

_“It was only the third floor!” she exclaimed, shocked at the vigour in Jack’s tone. The whole thing really had been a bit of a misunderstanding. The suspect had been emotional, grieving – not to mention shocked at her climbing in through the window – and he’d been confronting her on her trespassing when he’d tripped and fallen into her._

_It was just unfortunate that she’d still been standing in front of the open window through which she’d entered._

_There’d been a hefty shrubbery beneath it though, and the fall had been cushioned enough that – after first a paramedic, and then a paranoid Mac’s thorough examination – she’d been cleared of any major injuries. Just a few broken ribs and a sprained elbow. All reasonably anticlimactic, if you asked her._

_Jack, though, appeared to have a rather different opinion on it._

_“People die falling from third floor windows,” he told her, and his tone was lacking any kind of amusement. “Do you know how lucky you are?”_

_“I’ll be sure to send a letter of thanks to the gardener.”_

_Jack huffed, and she could practically hear the nose pinch. “Do you have everything you need?” he asked then, changing tack, and she couldn’t help but be warmed by it._

_“Depends what you’re offering, Inspector,” she grinned, and he let out a soft laugh._

_“Well I have a meeting in half an hour, but then assuming no one gets murdered I should be alright to leave. I can bring you dinner, if you want?”_

_“Do you come with it?”_

_“If you like.”_

_“I_ always _like, Jack,” she purred with a smirk. “Your company is always a privilege.”_

_“What d’you fancy to eat, then?” he asked, side-stepping her flirting as he so often and so carefully tended to, and Phryne found her smile widening. She resisted the urge to tease further, though, and instead hummed to herself in consideration._

_“Thai? Or maybe Indian? I don’t know. I think I want noodles.”_

_“Thai, then?”_

_“But I’m really craving naan bread. I think I just want carbs, honestly, all that bone-healing takes a lot of energy.”  
_

_Jack huffed out another laugh before replying. “Alright, carbs it is – leave it with me.”_

_“How long will you be?”_

_“Not more than a couple of hours, with any luck. Try to stay out of trouble until then?”_

_She chuckled. “I make no promises.”_

_“You’re incorrigible.”_

_“You love it. Imagine how dull life would be without me.”_

_“Perish the thought,” he joked, before they said their goodbyes and hung up.  
_

_When he turned up, though, two and a half hours later with a paper bag of Thai in one arm and a plastic bag filled with different kinds of naan bread in the other, Phryne couldn’t help but think how dull the idea of her life seemed now without Jack._

*

She made good time to Bourke, stopping only briefly to check her messages – smiling to see responses from Mac and Dot, both relieved to have heard from her. 

_Get a move on!_ – was Mac’s simple answer.

 _Thank God – taking groceries to Jack so will grab you some more essentials and put them in the fridge. Drive safe! X_ – from Dot, and Phryne sent up a prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening for sending the girl her way. 

It was almost three hours later when she stopped again, pulling into the servo with a sigh and dropping her head briefly to the steering wheel, eyes closed, before rousing herself and stepping out of the car. The moment she did, her phone pinged from the passenger seat, and she slid back into her own to check it. 

_Griffith Airport closed, no flights. How far away are you?_

She stared at Jack’s words for a moment, then glanced at the time on her phone. 

Ten to five. 

If she kept averaging the speed she had been (and didn’t encounter any bored traffic cops who felt like pulling her over for it) she might still just make it by car. Jack wouldn’t like it. None of them would like it, most likely – but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. 

_Road’s empty, be there by 11 xx_

_How many traffic laws do you plan to break to achieve that?_

His reply was practically instantaneous, and she rolled her eyes at it. She knew he didn’t like her driving – knew it was a cause of constant concern for him – but sometimes she wished he’d just have a little faith. 

_Enough that I make it, not so many I kill myself. Don’t worry_ 😘 _xx_

_I do worry, though x_

She smiled at this, then shook her head. Much as she could happily start flirting with him via text, there really wasn’t the time. 

_See you soon xxx_

She sent the message then tossed her phone back, rounding to the petrol pump. She stared at the numbers flicking up, the ticking of the counter mesmerising her temporarily as she watched, and she found her mind starting to ponder the idea that – no matter how many speed limits she broke – there was still a possibility that she might not make it. 

The pump clicked off, and she shook her head, dislodging the thought. 

It wasn’t worth dwelling on, only likely to stress her out, and she needed to keep her mind on the task at hand. She would make it back, no ifs, no maybes.

She would make it home, and everything would be fine.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I come to you with joyous news, which is that LeChatNoir1918 has started posting her quarantine fic, 'No Feeling is Final', and it is a bloomin' _delight_ \- so absolutely go check that out if you somehow haven't already. Stay safe, stay home, keep flattening them curves <3

The ticking clock scared him.

More so, because the very sound of it reminded him that Phryne, in all her stubbornness, was out there racing against it. 

Jack found himself grateful when Mac called, walking into his kitchen and staring into his open fridge for no other reason than to keep himself distracted enough to stay calm as he answered. 

“Any updates?” Mac sounded about as nervous as he felt, though he knew she was nervous for something of the opposite reason.

“Griffith closed the airport, but she’s convinced she can still make it driving,” Jack replied, picking up a pack of butter and staring down at it as if it might tell him something different. 

On the other end, Mac let out a soft ‘Jesus’, then cleared her throat. 

“I mean, if anyone could, it’s her.”

“I don’t think that’s really the point, Mac,” Jack sighed, turning the butter over in his hand to examine the label. 

“I know you’re worried about her being here, Jack, but believe me it’s better than the alternative,” Mac’s voice came, mildly scolding in a way he didn’t altogether understand. 

“I fail to see how, Mac,” he replied, just the right side of snappy, and then placed the butter back with a sigh, wishing he’d picked up something with more ingredients than cream and salt to distract him. 

“Jack,” Mac cautioned from the other end, and he swung the fridge door shut again before it started beeping at him, knowing he was in for a lecture from Mac anyway and deciding he could do without one from the fridge as well. “Once she’s here she can isolate and stay perfectly safe, but you know as well as I do that she’ll go absolutely out of her mind if we’re all here at risk and she’s stuck the other side of an invisible border. She’d find a way in whatever, but at least if she makes it on time she won’t get arrested for it.”

“She might get arrested for it either way, if she’s driving half as fast as I'm afraid she is,” he shot back, finally tipping over into irritation. “If she just stayed away she could negate any risk to her person or criminal record whatsoever.”

Mac sighed. “You know that was never going to happen.”

Jack’s head fell forward, staring down at his feet, eyes falling closed. He sighed himself, giving a small shake of his head. “I know,” he whispered. 

“She’ll be fine, Jack. It’s you we should be worrying about – any symptoms yet?”

He looked up again, staring at the calendar on his fridge and realising that it was taking a second or two for his eyes to focus on it. Huh, interesting. 

“Actually,” he murmured, “I think I might be a bit dizzy.”

“Dizzy how?” Mac demanded, tone turning instantly professional. “Lightheaded or room spinning? Do you feel sick?”

Jack blinked, then moved his head side to side, testing. The room stayed still, but there was a soft rush behind his eyes. 

“Lightheaded,” he answered, “but no nausea.”

“Well, that could just be dehydration,” Mac hummed, pensive. “Drink some water and keep an eye on it. Call me if you start feeling feverish – that’s generally how it’s starting.”

“Will do,” Jack affirmed, heading to the sink to do as instructed. It was true that he’d been too distracted to really take proper care of himself today – he should probably try and eat something as well, come to think of it. 

“Good man. And Jack?” she added. “Try not to panic. She’ll be fine.”

His mouth pulled into a small smile and he nodded to himself. “I hope so.”

“She will.”

With that Mac hung up, and Jack stood staring at the tap for a moment before moving himself to snag a glass and fill it. He stood in front of the sink, drinking slowly, mind determinedly distracted by worry. 

Mac was right, he knew – she _would_ be fine, she always was. That knowledge alone, though, was not enough to wholly calm him. He knew she wouldn’t stop once her mind was made up, had long since come to terms with this part of her personality – he’d even realised that it might just be one of the things that made him love her all the more – but that didn’t stop it keeping him up nights. 

His biggest fear, slowly, had become a disembodied voice at the end of the phone, apathetically recounting one of the myriad ways in which he might lose her.

He was working on trying to deal with it rationally, on not letting it affect either of them in a negative way – but there’d been a period, post car-incident, when his panic had been almost uncontrollable.

A fact that had led to some moments of foolishness he was far from proud of. 

*

_“Jack?” her voice sounded confused, and oddly apprehensive, and it did nothing to dim the swirling panic in his stomach._

_“What happened?” he demanded, heart in his throat. “Are you okay?”_

_“I… yes, I’m fine, what – I’m so sorry, could you just… I won’t be a tick.” This last appeared to be directed away from him, the words muffled, then her voice came again, clearer, “Jack, what’s the matter?”_

_Jack could hear his own heart thudding in his ears, confused at her apparent confusion. Maybe she was concussed. “Your message said you were in the hospital. What happened?” he repeated._

_There was a long pause, and then she spoke again, voice still carrying that same apprehensive tone which he didn’t quite understand._

_“_ At _the hospital, Jack,” she corrected. “For an appointment.”_

_He was too caught up in worry, though, to process this information properly – so instead he just barrelled on, demanding, “Why – are you sick?”_

_“No,” the word carried a light amusement that implied she was starting to think he’d totally lost the plot, but his mind was still tripping over thoughts of her injured, ill, damaged in some way that couldn’t be healed._

_He was still reeling at the very idea of losing her._

_“Then… why are you at the hospital?” he asked finally, feeling lost._

_There was a small huff of air on the other end he thought might be a laugh, then she replied, the same amusement in her tone. “I’m at the gynaecologist, Jack.”_

_Oh._

Oh.

_Jack felt all his snowballing terror stop short, and he found himself struck half-dumb, the weight of his mistake settling._

_“Oh,” he verbalised the shock._

_“So…” she hummed, implication heavy in her tone, and he cleared his throat, feeling suddenly, painfully awkward._

_“God, right, sorry – erm, crack on, then.”_

_“Might need you to hang up for that, Jack,” she hummed with a soft chuckle. “Your voice in my ear whilst I’m in stirrups is… probably not a good combination.”_

_“Right,” he repeated, “right, yes, sorry – again. Erm, talk later?”_

_“I’ll call you,” she affirmed, and he ended the call._

_It was only later, once he had calmed down from the panic, and the embarrassment of his revealing mistake, that he’d thought any more about her final comment – and what she might actually have meant by it._

_It wasn’t exactly something he felt comfortable bringing up again, though, so he resolved himself to the fact that he would just have to let the thought haunt him._

_Then her name had lit up his phone again, and he’d swallowed down what was left of his pride and answered._

_“Well that was the most interesting trip to the gyno I’ve had in a while,” she quipped at him before he could so much as say hello, but – he noted, with not a little relief – there was no admonishment in her tone._

_“Phryne, I’m –”_

_“Oh, shush, Jack, no need to apologise. Although, for a detective, you’re not the quickest to pick up on hints.”_

_“I know,” he replied, biting down the apology that tried to come after, debating what best to say instead. “I just… I saw ‘hospital’ and I didn’t… I couldn’t… I just panicked,” he admitted, opting for honesty. He may as well, he hadn’t exactly been subtle about it on the phone._

_Phryne hesitated a moment, during which Jack could once again hear his own heartbeat. “Jack, I’m still here, and certainly don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. You just need to breathe.”_

_“Yeah,” he replied on a sigh. “It’s just the –”_

_“The accident, I know,” she interrupted, voice firm, but not unkind. “But Jack, it wasn’t me. I’m here, I’m fine, and we agreed to move on, so I need you to get over it –_ you _need you to get over it – or you’re going to spend the rest of our lives a nervous wreck.”_

_Jack blinked at her statement – at the implications of it._

_“The rest of our lives?” he repeated, stealing himself at least to inject a hint of teasing into it. “Who’s to say we’ll be friends the rest of our lives, Miss Fisher?”_

_He heard her shift down the other end, letting out a soft breath. “Just a hunch, Jack.”_

_And at that he couldn’t help the foolish way his heart fluttered. It would be as friends alone, of course – he knew that – it couldn’t really be anything more than that with their differences on the matter, but just the thought of Phryne wanting him there, in whatever role, made something in him surge with warm contentment._

_“Anyway,” she continued, tone turning breezy again. “I generally see my gynaecologist on a Thursday – so maybe bear that in mind next time I tell you I’m at the hospital, hm?”_

_He cleared his throat, the embarrassment surging back again. “I really am sorry, Phryne.”_

_She laughed, full and rich. “Don’t be. Although, Jack?” she added._

_“Yes?”_

_“If you wanted me naked from the waist down, you know you only had to ask.”_

_With that she hung up, and Jack stared at his phone for a solid minute, speechless._

_Comments like that, though, were enough to make him wonder what it would be like to just give up and throw their differences out the damn window for a night. It would be a mistake, he knew, but the temptation lingered, nevertheless._

_In the meantime, Jack resolved, he really did need to find a way to get over her habit for danger – otherwise the rest of his life would be about two more years and then death from a stress-induced heart attack._

_And frankly, he wouldn’t say no to a_ little _while longer than that, certainly not if Phryne Fisher was going to be involved._

*

It had got better, after that, he had calmed and his fears with him. It still hovered, that terror of something happening to her, but he had come to realise that maybe that was just part of being in love – certainly with someone so inclined to risk as she – and he just needed to find the resolve to live with it. 

He shook himself from his ruminations and returned to the task at hand. Hydration, he decided, and nourishment, would need to serve as temporary distractions for both their sakes, and with this in mind he crossed back to the fridge to start examining the contents. 

Dot, true to her word, had brought him groceries and left them at the door – suspiciously soon after Collins had deposited his files, though he decided to ignore that fact. The old romantic in him couldn’t help but be moved by their shy courtship – innocent and ghost-free as they both were. 

Jack wondered if he might like to go back to that – to a time when love had seemed simple and he had approached it without fear or trauma. It had certainly been easier, being young and in love and thinking that he’d found his happy ending in ‘I do’. Easier until it hadn’t been – until work had called him undercover and he had come back a different man to the one who had left, until he had come home with horrors on his mind and found himself quite unable to return Rosie’s smiles with the same enthusiasm as he had two years prior. 

It had been easier, in so many ways, but with hindsight Jack couldn’t help but feel that that ease had been false. What had he and Rosie known about each other, after all? Could they really have known each other when they had barely known themselves then, young as they’d been? What Hugh and Dot had, what he and Rosie had once had, could that truly be classed as love? Or was it just a childish infatuation, destined always to be unsustainable? 

He had certainly thought himself in love with Rosie when he’d been twenty-two and known nothing of the world, but it seemed incomparable to what he felt now. He had enjoyed his time with Rosie – to start with, at least. Enjoyed her company, her humour, her body. They had had fun – genuine, real fun – but he wasn’t sure that even now he could list one secret of hers, not a single sin or trauma they had ever shared or lamented together. Not one demon they had faced down as a unit. Perhaps that was why he’d never felt able to talk to her about his undercover work, why he had lain awake at nights whilst she slept, and faced the ghosts alone. Perhaps it was why she had suffered through a miscarriage without feeling able to share her pain with him, to lean on him the way she should have been able to, the way he would always regret her feeling she couldn’t.

Perhaps their commitment to the illusion of joy was what had robbed it from them. 

It was so different, when he thought about it, to what he had with Phryne. By necessity of their work, and the circumstances of Phryne’s return, they had been fighting demons long before he’d even loved her. The two of them had gone into battle together more than once, and it had started to feel so natural, in the aftermath, to be truthful about their scars. 

It had become so natural, in fact, that she had become the only person he truly felt he could share them with. The only person he _wanted_ to, and the feeling appeared to have become at least somewhat mutual. 

*

_“Jack?” she asked, the minute he answered, and it immediately had him sitting up straighter. The word was choked, teary, and it made his gut twist in concern._

_“What is it?” he demanded. “Phryne, what’s wrong?”_

_“Can you come over?” she asked, ignoring the question, and he felt fear start creeping in. He snapped his laptop shut and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, walking immediately to the hall and grabbing his car keys._

_“Are you safe?” he asked, fighting the fear down until he’d asked the appropriate questions. He’d learnt it was the best thing to do to for both their sanity._

_“Yes,” she replied, then sniffed, continuing as if irritated with her own emotion. “I’m_ fine _, I just…” she trailed off, and he could hear her soft sobs robbing further speech from her. His heart ached at the sound of it._

_“I’ll be there in ten,” he promised, pulling his front door closed behind him._

_“Okay,” she murmured._

_“You want me to stay on the phone?”_

_She appeared to consider for a minute, then her voice came, stronger. “No. No, I’ll be alright. Just get here as soon as you can?”_

_“Already en route,” he assured. “Hang tight. You need me to bring anything?”_

_“Just you.”_

_He tried not to let those words affect him too much, swallowing down the emotion they stirred in him. “I’ll be there soon.”_

_“Okay.”_

_Jack waited and let her hang up, then slipped his phone into his pocket and slid into the driver's seat of his car. It was late enough, thankfully, that the rush hour traffic had all but disappeared, and it left the roads quiet enough that the drive was fast._

_Once he got there, he knocked on the door, only to hear a faint, “Come in, Jack,” from the other side. He pushed the door open, then shut it again behind him, turning the lock before heading towards the half-open parlour door._

_The sight that greeted him made his heart drop to his stomach, the urge to reach out and comfort her like a physical tug._

_Phryne was lying on her chaise, head pillowed on one arm, eyes red from where she’d clearly been crying for a while._

_She looked up at him when he entered, though, half-rising in greeting._

_“What do you need?” Jack asked, the words breathless in his desperation to soothe whatever ill was bothering her._

_Phryne shook her head, grimacing as her eyes turned skywards, fresh tears welling there that she was clearly trying to will back down again. She was unsuccessful, though, and they spilled down into the tracks that sat waiting for them on her cheeks._

_She opened her mouth to speak, but it seemed to just make it worse. Jack acted on instinct after that, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to the nearest chair before crossing the room to her. He perched himself on the edge of the chaise near her shoulder, and she shifted, sitting up enough to allow him to wrap his arms around her. He pulled her into his lap, her head against his thigh, and moved a hand to start stroking her hair._

_He had borne witness to her grief before – long ago when they had known each other less but she had trusted him with it all the same – and he was becoming rapidly sure that he knew what this was, even if he wasn’t sure why. He breathed the word softly as a question, to save her feeling the need to explain if she couldn’t._

_“Janey?”_

_Another sob wracked through her, and he felt her nod._

_“It’s okay,” he soothed. “It’ll be okay.”_

_She shook her head then, one hand coming to grab his knee, fingers tightening around it._

_“They want to move her, Jack.”_

_He frowned, confused. “Who do?”_

_“My parents,” she cried, though these words were more frustrated than mournful, and his fingers stilled in her hair as she continued. “They want her buried on the family plot in Somerset so they can visit her – what about what I fucking want, huh? She’s_ my _sister, I’m the one who found her when everyone else had given up, I’m the one who stopped Foyle, I’m…” she was cut off by her own uneven breathing, and Jack resumed the motion with his fingers, brushing them softly down the silky curtain of her hair._

 _“Her grave is all I have left,_ all _I have to be close to her. How can they be so fucking selfish?” she demanded, furious. Then, quieter, heartbroken, “How can they do this to me?”_

_And Jack’s heart broke with her. He had seen how deeply this hurt went within her, had been privy to exactly how much her sister’s loss had been accountable for. Just as he had when they’d worked the Foyle case, Jack found himself wishing there was anything he could offer – any balm he could provide – that would soothe the pain of it for her._

_He knew there was nothing though, nothing he could ever do would bring Janey back for her or heal the wound of her absence._

_He could comfort her though, if nothing else, and he resolved to do just that, if it was the only thing he was able._

_With a soft nudge he shifted her upright again, sliding off his shoes and bringing his legs up onto the chaise, slipping them behind her. When he lay down, he tugged her gently back down with him, one arm snaking around her waist and tucking her into his chest, dropping a chaste kiss to her hair._

_“I’ve got you,” he whispered, and she leant back against him, her own arm coming to cover his where it lay against her stomach._

_They lay like that for more minutes than he cared to count, her body shaking against him every now and then with a fresh wave of tears._

_The silence stretched so long that it was only the eventual cessation of her sobs, the slow evening out of her breathing, that led him to realise she had fallen asleep. He considered moving her, carrying her upstairs to the comfort of her bed, but even in sleep her fingers remained tight on his arm where it lay around her, and the idea of breaking that contact seemed almost unbearable to him._

_It was only when he woke up to the bustling noise of a Saturday morning, light spilling through the gauze curtains in a way that set the gold in the wallpaper alight like the sun was rising from the parlour itself, that he realised he had fallen asleep, too, with her cradled in his arms._

_And that she was no longer in them._

_Jack panicked for a half a minute, but then her head appeared around the doorway – free of the make-up she had cried into smudges the night before and looking for all the world like nothing had happened save for the slightly sheepish tilt of her smile._

_“Coffee?” she asked, and Jack rubbed at his eyes, blinking himself to full alertness._

_“As in, would I like one, or will I make them?” he shot back, and her smile blossomed to a full grin._

_“The latter, obviously.”_

_Jack rolled his eyes and stood. Phryne made excellent coffee, when she chose to, but for whatever reason she seemed to take far more delight in watching him (inelegant a barista as he was) curse his way through steaming milk than in having the perfect cappuccino. Her delight delighted him, though, so it was hardly like he minded._

_“Two caps, coming up,” he told her as he reached the door, but before he could turn for the kitchen, he found himself stopped by her hand on his arm._

_“Jack,” she breathed, fingers sliding down to his wrist and encircling it with a surprisingly firm hold. She looked up at him for a long moment and he raised an eyebrow in question as he watched her mouth hang half-open, seemingly searching for words._

_“Yes?” he prompted, when the silence dragged._

_She swallowed, blinked, then the intensity fell from her eyes, replaced with a teasing glint. “Don’t skimp me on the sprinkles.”_

_With that she released his arm and danced off towards the kitchen. Jack rolled his eyes, sighed, and followed after._

_He was fast approaching the point where he wondered if he mightn’t carve the still beating heart from his chest and give it to her, if she asked._

_He was hardly going to draw the line at sprinkles._

*

It had been barely two months after that night – after she'd been to England and returned again, straight into his waiting arms at the airport – that Jack had finally noticed he no longer seemed to give a damn about marriage. Staring into the very same fridge he was currently searching for ingredients, contemplating how goddamn happy she made him – even just as they were – he had suddenly realised that all the perceived benefits of marriage and traditional commitment just _didn’t matter_ anymore. Certainly not compared to the joy her presence in his life brought him – and maybe, he'd thought, maybe that meant they were no longer so romantically misaligned as to rule out romance between them, after all.

Then he'd dropped a jar of pesto on his foot.

He could have done without hope also feeling suspiciously like a broken toe, but the severity of the injury really didn't seem that important considering the thoughts that had led to it.

She’d teased him mercilessly the following day as he’d limped about their crime scene, needling him for the tale of what had led to his mysterious injury, and he’d honestly had half a mind to just tell her, then and there, but they’d been standing by a particularly pungent three-day old corpse – and nothing about that screamed suitability for a romantic overture.

So, he had left it, determined that a better time would come soon when he could talk to her about it properly – it just hadn’t, and now here he was staring at the same jar of pesto (still unopened – some stupid, sentimental part of him had just put it back in the fridge and been unable to bring himself to touch it since) with a lockdown threatening to separate them for God knew how long.

Mac was right – she would be fine, of course she would, whatever happened. As the clock kept ticking, though, and he continued to wait in anxious anticipation for updates, Jack was starting to actually wonder if _he_ would be.

Especially considering that his dizziness did not appear to have dissipated in the slightest – and the fact that his brief foray into the fridge had left him feeling oddly shivery.

Jack swung the door shut again and took a half pace backwards, a hand travelling quickly to his own forehead and finding it on the unpleasant side of warm.

He took a breath, taking stock of the rest of his body, and blinking against the same soft rushing behind his eyes. His legs hurt a bit – but that was likely stiffness from the fact he’d barely moved all day – and the dizziness was only really a problem when he moved too fast, otherwise he felt totally fine. If a little on the cold side – but then that was nothing a jumper couldn’t fix. He crossed back to the sink and poured himself another glass of water.

It was probably still just dehydration, he told himself.

He felt fine, and Phryne would be fine. There really was no need to panic.


	5. Chapter 4

Phryne loved driving – always had, from the moment her father had first sat her behind a steering wheel when she’d barely been tall enough to see over it (and oh, hadn’t her mother just _loved_ that one when she’d found out). She loved the freedom, the control, the thrill of the speedometer rising and the world whipping by faster than you could possibly take it in. 

She loved the adrenaline. 

What Phryne hated, though, maybe more than anything – was other drivers. 

She understood that for some people (Jack, for example) speed limits were something that mattered, and she understood why – from a safety point of view, at least. She even obeyed them herself, most of the time, in deference to the other road users whom her own love for speeding might affect should something happen to go wrong. She understood that on a busy road or in a built-up area or perhaps on a rainy Melbourne day when visibility was poor, speed limits were important. 

What she didn’t understand and drove her to the absolute edges of distraction even when she didn’t have anywhere to be, was people going thirty kilometres an hour _below_ them. 

And on a straight road at that. 

If it hadn’t been a Wednesday, Phryne would have assumed that the ute was occupied by a couple of pensioners out for a leisurely Sunday drive. As it was, she could only assume that one of the many deities she liked to assume she had pissed off along the way was an especially vindictive arsehole and had decided now was the time to punish her.

At seventy kilometres an hour. 

The worst part, of course, was that where before the roads had been empty, the minute she’d passed through Griffith the world and his wife seemed to have emerged. She’d half wondered if the closing of airports hadn’t sent everyone rushing back and forth in the same panic as she herself was under, desperate to get where they needed to get before more lockdowns occurred. That would certainly explain why there hadn’t been a single gap in the flow of oncoming traffic in which to overtake, but it still left the positively geriatric pace of the car in front up for debate. 

That, she _had_ to assume, was someone’s sick idea of a joke. 

The only solace from the delay came when, an hour into her slow torture, Phryne’s phone lit up with the signs of service again. The minute it did she scooped it off the passenger seat and called Jack, putting her phone on speaker and propping it in her lap.

He answered within half a ring, greeting measured, but laced with the edges of panic she knew he was feeling.

“Phryne? Where are you, are you still driving?”

“Forever, at this rate,” she huffed, fingers tightening around the wheel with a renewed surge of anger. “I don’t suppose you feel like making me an honorary constable so I can arrest the car in front for driving so _damn_ slowly?”

Jack let out a soft chuckle at this, the sound almost relieved. “I’m afraid driving at the speed limit isn’t actually an arrestable offence.”

“They’re not driving _at_ the speed limit, Jack,” she snapped. “They’re driving thirty bloody kilometres an hour below it.”

“ _Thirty_?” he exclaimed, and she smirked, satisfied at least by his apparent dismay at this. “Alright, granted, I’d definitely pull them up on that.”

“See!” she cried, victorious. “I swear I’m this close to just running them off the road.”

“Alright, well let’s not do anything drastic. Why don’t you just overtake them?”

“Oh, good idea, Jack,” she quipped. “Why on earth didn’t I think of that?”

“No opportunities?” he asked, and she took solace in the fact that he at least sounded sympathetic with it. 

“Not a single one. Please, Jack, I can’t bear this any longer. Please let me arrest them.”

Jack let out another soft laugh. “Where are you?”

“Somewhere south of Griffith.”

“You crossed the border yet?”

“No,” she responded with a pout, knowing what he was going to say in response. 

“Then I can’t help you, sorry. Jurisdictional issues, and all.” He didn’t sound sorry in the slightest, and Phryne groaned. 

“Hang your jurisdictional issues. I want to arrest someone.”

“Well there’s plenty of people who need arresting here, maybe you can slap someone in cuffs once you’re home, if that’s your kink.”

Jack went abruptly silent once the words were out, and Phryne couldn’t help but smirk. 

“My kinks are many and varied, Inspector, but I’m generally quite selective about who I put in cuffs.”

Jack seemed to gather himself enough to keep playing, the smile evident in his voice when his reply came. “And here I thought you had quite the collection. That was certainly how you claimed innocence during CuffGate.”

Phryne’s smile widened at the memory of this. The great CuffGate of twenty nineteen had occurred not all that long before the case involving Angela Lombard (and all the confronting realisations that _that_ had brought with it) and she had found the whole thing greatly amusing, short as it may have been. 

*

_“Where are my handcuffs?”_

_Phryne smirked, putting down the glass of wine she’d just started. “Why, good evening, Inspector, and how has your day been?”_

_Jack, it seemed, was not playing. “Phryne, I know this is a joke to you, but I do actually_ need _those.”_

_“Planning to use them this evening, were you?”_

_“Do you actually understand the concept of the law?” he continued, evading the question, and she picked up her glass again. “Or is it some sort of metaphor or… or theory to you?”_

_She pouted, pretending to think about it. “I’d say I have a basic understanding.”_

_“I’m yet to observe it.”_

_Phryne chuckled. “I’ll give them back on Monday,” she teased. Truthfully, she had no idea where the cuffs were – certainly not with her. Often as she may have found her thoughts wandering to how Jack could put the things to use personally, she did somewhat draw the line at taking his state-issued equipment for use with anyone_ besides _him. She was a little surprised, honestly, that he thought she wouldn’t._

_“Phryne, I’m pretty sure there are shops for that kind of thing.”_

_“Really?” she exclaimed, with false exaggeration. “Do tell me more, Inspector.”_

“Phryne.”

_She laughed again, taking a sip of her wine. “Oh, calm down, Jack. I don’t have them.”_

_“Why don’t I believe you.”_

_“It’s the truth,” she said, taking another sip. “Scouts honour.”_

_“Were you ever a Scout in the first place?”_

_“I was!” she exclaimed, then grinned smugly into her glass. “I got kicked out of the Girl Guides.”_

_This, at least, made Jack chuckle. “I can’t imagine why.”_

_“Hey, now,” she admonished. “I’ll have you know that before that I was an_ excellent _Brownie. Best in the pack.”_

_“Then what happened?”_

_“When I started Guides I found out that the boys were learning how to make campfires whilst we were making papier-mâché jewellery boxes. I took exception.”_

_“Understandably,” Jack shot back, a light note of teasing in his voice. “So, I assume you led a revolution?”_

_“No,” she hummed. “I just decided I’d teach myself to make a campfire as well – using my papier-mâché jewellery box.”_

_“And they kicked you out for that?”_

_“Well.” Phryne tapped her nails against her glass, remembering just how out of hand the situation had got – the pack leaders’ complete horror, her parents fury, but the eventual satisfaction of the reputation that then preceded her to the Scouts – leading her to be welcomed as the first female member of their pack with toothy grins and open (if muddy) arms. “I may have neglected to utilise proper safety precautions. Like… doing it outside.”_

_Jack huffed out another laugh. “And there it is.”_

_“I was only eleven!” she laughed back. “I just wanted to make a fire I didn’t really think about the consequences.”_

_“Do you ever?”_

_“Frequently.”_

_“Could have fooled me.”_

_“I just often choose to ignore them,” she shrugged, draining her glass and rising to go and refill it, padding through to the kitchen in her stockinged feet. “Now about those handcuffs –”_

_“I’m going to need them back,” he interrupted, voice turning serious again. “I mean it, Phryne.”_

_“I don’t have them, Jack!” she insisted, fishing the bottle from the fridge and pouring. “I promise – I have a perfectly respectable collection of my own, I wouldn’t have any need to steal yours. Maybe you just lost them?”_

_“I don’t lose things,” he shot back, and she smirked at the defensiveness of it._

_“First time for everything.”_

_“I have_ not _lost them, Phryne, I’m telling you – someone’s taken them.”_

 _“Who would steal handcuffs, Jack?” she asked, swinging the fridge shut again and hopping onto the counter with her glass, swinging her legs against the cupboards as she contemplated the question herself. “And why? More to the point,_ how _? Don’t you keep them on you?”_

_“Exactly why I assumed you were to blame.”_

_“Jack!” she gasped in mock outrage. “If I were removing something from your person I would take extra care to make sure you most certainly_ were _aware of it.”_

 _Jack went silent, and Phryne swallowed. She’d noticed herself doing that a lot more lately. They flirted often, and shamelessly, but never with any_ real _intent. Not to start with, anyway. In recent weeks she’d come to notice something of an intensifying to her bantering, though, and she wasn’t altogether sure why… or what it might actually mean._

_“Have you noticed anyone being overly friendly in the last twenty-four hours?” she asked, changing the topic before he could say anything in response to her last comment. “Or maybe left them with your jacket, unaccompanied?”_

_“I…” Jack started, then trailed off in apparent thought. “I mean it was packed on the tram this morning, I suppose someone could have lifted them then – but it wasn’t like I was in uniform, they’d have to have just seen them when I moved my suit jacket and taken the opportunity. Though even if that’s what happened, the question remains of_ why _?”_

 _“And it’s an exceptional question, at that,” Phryne agreed, sipping thoughtfully on her wine. “Was it simply an opportunistic theft – perhaps somebody with a grudge against cops? They saw the silent identifier of the cuffs on your belt and decided to commit the crime for their own quiet satisfaction. Or maybe they took them as more of a trophy… to prove some kind of point to themselves. Maaaaybe you really_ did _just lose them, and you aren’t as organised as you think,” she added with a snigger._

_“Wait!” Jack exclaimed, and Phryne blinked in surprise. “You might be onto something.”_

_“That you’re not as organised as you think?”_

_“No,” he shot back, tone rich in the excitement that always coloured it when he was feeling inspired on a lead. It was an intelligent sort of exhilaration that spoke of a mind on fire with the work of solving a problem – and Phryne found it deeply,_ deeply _sexy. “No, Phryne, say that again – about the trophies.”_

_She swallowed down her salacious thoughts about Jack’s voice and his mind and took another gulp of wine before putting the glass to one side and focusing. “I said maybe somebody took them as a trophy, to prove a point?”_

_“That’s it,” he replied, but it was more of a soft whisper to himself than an actual response. “Phryne, I need to make some calls. I’ll speak to you later?”_

_“Honestly,” she huffed. “I crack the case and then you try and ditch me for the finale.”_

_“I won’t be long,” he promised._

_“Oh_ fine _, but I want a full explanation when you’re done.”_

_“I’ll bring you a copy of the report.”_

_“Cliff notes will do, Jack,” she quipped. “Much as I love hearing you talk about crime, your reports are a tad on the dry side for my reading tastes.”_

_“What if I add some whiskey to the bargain?”_

_“Well then you’ve got yourself a deal, Inspector,” she grinned. “By all means, go and stop the cuff thief.”_

_It had been two hours later when he’d turned up – true to his word with a whiskey bottle in hand (though no paperwork in sight) – and a grin on his face._

_“You,” he’d greeted, handing her the bottle, “are a genius.”_

_“I know – but do feel free to elaborate.”_

_He’d followed her into the parlour and sat with whiskey, explaining how her comment had reminded him that he’d come across a report for equipment replacement from one of his uniformed officers a few days prior – something he hadn’t paid much mind at the time – until he’d gone through to see just how many officers across the area had reported the misplacement of their handcuffs over the last month, and the numbers had been astounding._

_“Turns out,” he finished the story, draining his glass, “that boy band who like to think of themselves as a street gang –”_

_“Oh, the what-are-they-calleds!” she exclaimed._

_“The Bottle Top Boys?”_

_“Yes, them! God, they really do sound like a boy band.”_

_“Well,” Jack continued, putting his glass down and turning back to her. “_ Apparently _their leader, Col, took exception to the fact one of my guys pulled him up on a D &D last month – so he decided to get back at the Victoria Police by having his members pilfer cuffs. According to one of the kids we brought in this evening the plan was some sort of publicity stunt with them all near Flinders – mind you, God knows how they were planning to get away with that with all the security cameras.”_

_“You’ve got to give them points for creativity, though,” Phryne pointed out, finishing her own whiskey and offering Jack a top up which he politely refused._

_“I should be heading home – but I just wanted to thank you in person, really. They were being taken as trophies, you cracked it.”_

_“When don’t I?” she shot back with a wink, but she felt the joking fall away as she really looked at Jack – his expression oddly gentle. His eyes, in the soft lamplight of the parlour, were… well, if she hadn’t known better, she might even have called the gaze adoring._

_“When don’t you, indeed,” Jack breathed, and she felt her own breath catch, suddenly very aware of how close they were, of the heat of Jack’s body where their limbs were pressed together on the limited space of her chaise._

_She swallowed, trying to get a hold of herself. “So, does this mean you’re in the market for replacement handcuffs, Inspector? Because I happen to know some excellent shops.”_

_Jack’s lips quirked up at the corners. “I don’t doubt it, Miss Fisher.”_

_“I’d be happy to show you around if you’d like,” she continued, dropping her voice to a whisper, eyes flicking to his lips and back to his eyes. “Anytime.”_

_Jack’s smile turned oddly rueful, and he pulled back a little. “Alas, I think the Victoria Police Force prefers us to use the standard issue.” With this he stood, and Phryne tried not to dwell on the odd thought of how much she missed his warmth once he had._

_“Pity,” she shot back, keeping the word breezy despite the settling disappointment of his retreat._

_“Probably for the best,” Jack replied, pulling his jacket off the back of the armchair and shrugging back into it. “It doesn’t always do to mix business and pleasure.”_

_“That presupposes the business isn’t already pleasurable, Jack.” Phryne tucked her legs under herself, staring him down as he moved for the door. Once there, he turned, leaning against the frame as he returned her gaze._

_“Well, there you’ve got me. Speak to you tomorrow?”_

_She nodded, offering him a small smile. “Drive safe – thanks for the whiskey.”_

_Jack smiled back. “It was a well-deserved reward.”_

_“I’ll remind you that next time I solve one of your cases for you, Inspector.”_

_“I look forward to it.”_

_He stared back at her, their eyes caught on each other for a half a minute where she thought, hoped even, that he might say more. Then he smiled again, raised a hand in a half-wave, and disappeared through the door._

_Phryne watched him go with her lip caught between her teeth and her heartbeat deafening her. Then she shook her head, letting out a small, huffed laugh of dismissal, and poured herself another whiskey._

*

“Yes, well,” Phryne retorted, shaking herself from the memory. “Size of collection doesn’t prescribe frequency of usage – nor quantity of users.”

“So, you don’t want to arrest anyone then?”

“Well, let’s not be hasty,” she fenced. “I never said _that_.”

“Either way, until you cross the border there’s still nothing I can do to help,” Jack continued, sounding far less sympathetic about it than Phryne really appreciated, frustration levels rising.

“I’ll be a pensioner myself by the time I cross the damn border,” she grumbled. 

“How do you know it’s a pensioner?”

“Because no one under the age of a hundred would drive this slowly for this _long_. Except maybe you – and Jane, but then that’s your fault, I knew I never should have let you give her driving lessons.”

“She _asked_ me to give her driving lessons – something about never wanting to be behind the wheel of a car with you ever again?” 

Phryne huffed. She still hadn’t totally forgiven her foster daughter for that betrayal, but since she’d escaped back to Paris shortly after and Jack was here, it had been him who’d borne the brunt of it. 

“I maintain you brainwashed her, but we can agree to disagree.”

There was a long pause from Jack’s end during which she could almost hear his mind working, and then he cleared his throat, tone turned serious, and spoke. “So, how far actually are you from the border?”

And she knew he wasn’t asking for jurisdictional purposes.

“Only about an hour, if these idiots would get off the road.”

“How long if they don’t?”

Phryne let out an irritated breath. “An hour and a half – at least.”

“Only an extra half hour?” Jack shot back. “At thirty below? That must have been some rather modest speeding you had planned.”

“It was meant to average out,” she replied through gritted teeth. “I had it worked out perfectly, Jack.”

He was quiet again for a moment, then, “Phryne, you know that –”

“Don’t,” she snapped, though, cutting him off. “Don’t say it, Jack. Maybe they’ll turn off soon – or I’ll finally get a chance to overtake.”

“Phryne,” he said again, voice soft in a way she hated. “It’s nearly eight.”

“I know.”

“It’s going to take at least three hours from the border – certainly with all the traffic restrictions they’re putting in place. And that’s assuming you don’t take a break – which I’ve no doubt you _need_ , you’ve been driving far longer than’s safe.”

“Jack,” she replied, annoyed at herself that it came out almost a whine. “What else am I meant to do?”

“You could stop,” he murmured.

“I can’t do that.”

“You might have to.”

“Jack, if you don’t have anything useful to add to this conversation, I’ll hang up on you,” she bit out, “Don’t test me.”

“Right,” he snapped back, “because God forbid anyone ruin your fun with something as inconvenient as facts.”

“Fun?” she cried, temper flaring. “Do you think this is really fun for me, Jack? That I’m having a good time driving without break from fucking _Queensland_?”

“Well no one asked you to do that.”

“What was I meant to do, teleport? You know, you’d think you’d be a little more appreciative, Jack, considering how hard I’m trying.”

“But I told you not to come!” he shouted, the exclamation crackling through her phone’s speaker, and Phryne felt her mouth fall open, swerving slightly in shock. 

There was another moment of deathly quiet silence between them, then Jack’s voice came again, gentle, apologetic. “Phryne, I’m –”

“No,” she cut him off, voice icy. “No, it’s fine, Jack – you’ve made your feelings on the matter perfectly clear.”

Jack sighed, the sound faint down the line but still audible. “You know it’s not that I don’t want you here.”

“ _Do_ you want me there?” she demanded, the words sharp, but Phryne felt her throat tighten at the question. “Or do you just…” she trailed off, “I mean do you even…”

She spent so much of the time assuming that Jack cared as much about her as she did him – that even if he weren’t inclined to compromise on his romantic position he still loved her as the best friend they’d long been to each other – that she rarely stopped to consider the idea that maybe he just… didn’t want her as much as she wanted him. 

The idea of wanting a man more than she was wanted by him was nothing short of preposterous – and Jack certainly didn’t give any impression that that was the case. The fact remained, however, that she had been one word from him away from diving headfirst into whatever lay at the bottom of their cliff for far, far longer than she cared to think about. She had been so careful not to let anyone steal her heart from her, and so content with it unstolen, that she’d been completely oblivious to the fact she’d been slowly wrapping it up to give to Jack quite of her own volition. At least until the unfortunate slip up with Angela had brought realisation crashing down on her. 

Her heart had been packaged, stamped, and addressed before Jack had ever actually requested a delivery. She realised, fingers clenching the steering wheel until her knuckles were white, that despite knowing this – despite the fact she’d assumed herself happy to stay as they were and keep flirting with him until he just slept with her anyway, or otherwise asked her to stop and keep things more platonic – that her treacherous heart might secretly have shipped itself off in hope, anyway. 

She had always been more overt in her advances, more forward in her flirting. It wasn’t that Jack didn’t engage – he did, delightfully often – but he certainly initiated it far less. Phryne had always assumed that was just his nature, calm and stoic as he tended to be – but what if it wasn’t that at all? What if it was simply that he was less interested? That he cared less than she did?

It was only after turning the wipers on to clear the sudden blurriness of her windscreen – to no particular effect – that Phryne realised she was crying. 

“Phryne?” Jack interrupted her spiralling, and she blinked at the wetness in her eyes, choking down the foolish emotions. 

“What?” she snapped.

“You stopped talking?”

“What? Oh,” she realised aloud as she remembered that she had, in fact, been asking a question before her panic had descended. She sniffed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It sounds like it does,” he whispered, the words so soft they brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. She swiped angrily at her face, though, shaking her head to try and get a hold of herself.

“It doesn’t.”

She heard him take a deep breath, as if grounding himself, and then his voice came again – just as gentle. “Phryne, the only thing I want more than you here with me is for you to be safe. You know that, don’t you?”

She took a shaky breath, sniffing again. 

“Are you crying?”

“ _No_.” 

“What’s wrong? God, Phryne, I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry – really, I am. I’m just worried and –”

“I’m _fine_ ,” she interrupted. “I’m just tired, Jack, it’s been a stressful day, and it’s not over yet.” 

“Phryne,” Jack repeated her name, sighing the word out like a prayer, a seriousness to it that made her think he’d not believed a word of her protests. The idea that he might, even at a distance, be seeing through to exactly what the issue was – as he so often did – made her panic spike sharply again, heart in her throat. “The reason I wanted you to stay away has absolutely nothing to do with my desire to see or be near you, believe me. I will always want you by my side to face demons – it’s… it’s what we do best together. But, Phryne, I… I can’t bear…”

She licked her lips, curiosity tugging at the curtain of panic that had descended. Jack's voice was earnest, but oddly tortured. 

“God, you know I really didn’t want to do this over the phone, but if it’s what it takes then...” Jack let out a shaky breath. “Screw it. Phryne, I –”

The sound of a siren swallowed his words, and Phryne cast a glance up to her rear-view mirror with a curse, heart sinking from throat to stomach at the sight of the police car flashing her. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” she breathed. “Shit, fuck, fucking –”

“Phryne, is that what I think it is?” Jack sounded about as panicked as she felt. 

“Jack, _shit_ , they’re flashing me.”

“Well you’re going to have to stop!”

She swallowed. “ _Or_ –”

“ _No_ ,” he growled. “Phryne Fisher, do not even _think_ about getting yourself involved in a damn car chase. Definitely not an interstate one.”

“But Jack,” she protested, though she wasn’t sure why – she knew he was right, she was reckless, but she’d always prided herself on the fact that she wasn’t all out stupid. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Well maybe it’s just an RBT,” he offered, “or one of your lights has stopped working. I mean you’re only going seventy, right?”

“I…” Phryne’s eyes flicked down to the speedometer, and promptly widened, rising up to the road in front where her geriatric ute was decidedly not. She hadn’t even noticed, not in all her distraction with Jack and their argument. Hadn’t noticed the ute turning off, hadn’t noticed her foot pressing to the floor as her fingers had tightened on the wheel in upset. She hadn’t noticed, straight and open as the road was, that she had accelerated her way from thirty below the speed limit to twenty above. “Erm... not exactly, not anymore.”

“What?” Jack demanded. “What happened to the pensioners?”

“I don’t know!” she snapped back, “I was busy being angry at you!”

“Well how fast are you going now?”

She hesitated.

“ _How fast?_ ”

“A hundred and twenty,” she murmured, sheepish – pretty sure she heard Jack groan at the other end. 

“Phryne, you have to pull over.”

“I know,” she snapped, easing off further on the gas and doing her best to breathe. 

It would be fine. She would smile her way through it and get back on the road and it would all be fine. 

Phryne spied a pull off up ahead and indicated, breaking hard and swinging into it, car bumping to a stop – the police car following behind. 

“Jack, I’ll call you back,” she told him then, watching in the mirror as the officers started getting out of their car. 

“I can stay, if you want?”

Phryne gave a soft laugh, though it didn’t carry all that much humour. “I thought you didn’t have any jurisdiction here, Inspector?”

“I don’t,” he replied, “but I can make sure they don’t try anything. Traffic cops are arrest happy bastards at the best of times – the power over the roads tends to go to their heads.”

She smiled involuntarily at his protectiveness but shook her head. “No, it’s okay. I can handle it.”

“I’ve no doubts about that, Miss Fisher, it’s them that I don't trust.” 

“Please, this’ll hardly be the first time I’ve had to talk my way out of a ticket, Jack.” She looked up to check her appearance, and then grimaced. Tear-stained and frazzled wasn’t exactly how she had experience of doing so, but there wasn’t much she could do about that now. 

“I’ll call you back.”

There was a pause, a shuffling noise, then, “Alright. Well, good luck.” And he hung up.

Phryne took hold of her phone with her left hand, keeping it below the steering wheel, then flicked her wrist – tossing it back to the passenger seat with as little movement as possible. Then she took a deep breath, rolled down the window, and turned to where the police officers were just coming along beside her. 

She painted on a smile, leaning on the open window, and sent a quick prayer up to whichever deity might be left that she hadn't pissed off. 

This would not be the first time she’d had to talk her way out of a speeding penalty by a long shot, but it just might be the only time that it had ever really mattered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the bad news is my laptop has died, and the world is shut down so who knows when I'll be able to fix it. The good news is I'd already uploaded this chapter to Ao3 - but there might be a slightly longer gap in uploading the next one because I'm gonna have to do it all from my phone... joy of joys. So apologies in advance should that be the case, but hope everyone is well and staying safe in the meantime!


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter absolutely slayed me dead and I cannot express my joy that it's over. We're moving into a few longer, heavier chapters - but, as promised, things will brighten up again the other side. My angst goblin self normally wouldn't make these assurances - because tension - but COVID is stressful enough, so I feel that they're appropriate, this time. Also the laptop is very dead, but thankfully I have kindly relatives and am borrowing. I am, thus, eternally indebted to them and feel that should be mentioned.

In the minutes between hanging up the phone and the repeated buzzing that announced Phryne’s return call, Jack was relatively sure he cycled through the complete spectrum of human emotion a couple of times over.

Granted that might have been a slight exaggeration, but since exaggeration wasn’t something he was usually inclined towards, and his head wasn’t quite right anyway, Jack thought he deserved the dramatics on this occasion. 

He had had a _plan_ , dammit – or half a one at least. One that didn’t involve a semi-cocked confession in desperation down a phone. _Certainly_ not an interrupted one. 

Phryne had been crying though – suddenly and out of nowhere after a silence he had caused with careless words – and he just hadn’t been able to bear it, anymore. Any of it. He couldn’t bear the thought of her making it back, of her shut in with the sick and the panicked with such a strong drive to help people that she’d no doubt end up getting herself in trouble. He couldn’t bear the thought of her _not_ making it back – not when she was clearly so desperate to – of the dangerous lengths she might go to to achieve it. Most of all, though, after his outburst, he couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking he didn’t _want_ her. 

Even if it meant putting his heart on the line via bloody iPhone. 

He could always blame it on the fever, of course, which he was reluctantly coming to admit that he might, in fact, have. He had managed to microwave himself some soup and then returned to his place on the sofa, wrapping himself in a blanket and waiting. It was helping, somewhat, but he still felt shivery – and he was wrestling with the question of whether or not to tell Mac. 

The more pressing concern, though – above fevers and foolish confessions - was the idea of whatever was happening at the New South Wales border, and what it might mean for her continuing journey. 

At this stage in proceedings he couldn't even be sure whether he wanted her to get back or not, since the stress of her determined mission to do so was fast coming to level with the stress he’d felt at the idea of her getting sick. In fact, by the time she called back, he was relatively sure that he needn’t worry about whether this fever was the virus – because he was far more likely to die of a stress-induced heart attack before it could do any damage, anyway. 

It took him two rings to even shake himself into coherency and grab his phone from where it sat on the arm of the sofa.

“Phryne?” he demanded, heart in his throat. “What happened, where are you?”

“On my way to the police station,” she ground out, voice dripping in cold fury. 

“ _What_?” Jack panicked. “They can’t arrest you, Phryne, that’s not –”

“Oh, I know,” she cut him off. “They _can_ suspend my license with immediate effect, though. Which they did.”

Jack let out a heavy breath. “Shit.”

“Not quite my sentiments, but you’re certainly on the right lines.”

“I thought you were only going at one-twenty, though?” he asked, confused. 

“A hundred and twenty seven, apparently.”

“Still, weren’t you in a hundred zone?”

She let out a low chuckle that sounded more dangerous, than anything else. “Eighty, _apparently_.” Jack got the distinct impression that the emphasis was not for him. 

“Shit,” he repeated.

“They’re taking me to the station but after that I…” she trailed off, silent for several long moments before sucking in a breath. “Jack, I… I don’t know what to do, I’m running out of time.”

“I know.”

It was not at all a helpful response, he knew this, but Jack was at something of a loss himself. If she didn’t have a license, or a vehicle – and what with public transport shutting down rapidly around the country – there were few options left to her. 

There wasn’t even time left for someone to go and pick her up. 

“Jack,” she said again, a whisper, hushed enough that he thought the officers in the front of the car might not even hear it. 

“Yes?” 

“What if I really can’t get home?”

Jack’s heart clenched at the despair that hung in the words. He leant his elbows on his knees, resting his forehead in the hand not holding his phone and centering himself with his eyes on the floor so that, when he answered, the words were calm and measured rather than tinged with the echoed despair and heartache he felt. 

“Well, then, maybe you reconsider the tropical island and cocktail plan.” 

She laughed, a soft exhalation that wasn’t all that amused, landing far closer to rueful. “Not that I wouldn’t happily take a margarita or several right about now, Jack, but you know that was never an option.” 

Jack sighed. “I know.” 

Quiet descended for a moment, and he half considered trying again – the words, which had come so close to escaping him, now sitting heavily on the tip of his tongue, screaming to be said – but it didn’t feel right. Phryne had more pressing concerns right now than his feelings – not to mention an audience, who he was sure she wouldn’t appreciate having to respond in front of whichever direction that response might take. 

He wasn’t sure he would appreciate it all that much, either, if the response wasn’t what his heart was hoping for. 

Unhurried as he had felt to say the words when time had felt unlimited, Jack hadn’t spent all that much time dwelling on the realities of her responses. He had kept it all so simple in his mind; either she said yes, and they allowed each other into their beds and hearts and every time she ran off world saving he’d farewell her with a kiss, not a coy smile, and a ‘be careful’ that was clarified with confessions around it – or else she said no, and they just carried on as normal. 

The thundering of his heart as he’d half said the words, though, the spiralling panic of the moments after – the disappointment and relief that had come in successive waves after being interrupted – had him realising that maybe it wasn’t that simple. 

It wasn’t that simple at all. 

Yes, if she said no then they would continue as normal. He loved and respected her far too much to throw his toys out of the pram because she wasn’t willing to enter into the kind of relationship she’d never been shy about expressing her disinterest in. Whatever happened, he would so much rather have her as a friend than as nothing at all. 

That didn’t mean it wouldn’t break his heart, though – and that was something which, in the buoyant joy of his epiphany, he had not actually ever stopped to consider. He had been so excited by, and preoccupied with, the idea of his own readiness – his realisation that _his_ needs had changed to a point where they might be able to find common ground – that he hadn’t let himself examine the idea that there was still no reason to believe Phryne’s stance had changed. He was reasonably secure that she would be open to sleeping with him, if he offered, but that still didn’t mean she’d want him _only_. He had no reason to think she would actually want anything other than the open, casual sex she’d always seemed to be offering. 

He had no reason to believe she’d want to _commit_ , even without the threat of marriage, and that realisation made the words – primed and ready as they’d been – die again on his tongue. 

Maybe he’d just been about to make an absolute fool of himself. 

Only, there had been moments – hadn’t there? Moments when she’d acted… proprietary? Moments when, if he hadn’t tried to assure a heart that still hadn’t been ready that he was reading into things, he might even have said she was acting jealous. 

Angela had been one – the way she had lost her temper with him over the idea of him sleeping with her. The odd lie that had led to the conversation in the first place. There had also been the strange way she had looked at him during the dinner that followed – her eyes fixed on his every movement like she was at once searching for and finding something. 

Then, before that, there had been Concetta – and God, hadn’t that whole affair confused the hell out of him. 

*

_“How do you know Concetta Fabrizi?”_

_Jack blinked at his laptop in surprise._

_“Hello, Phryne,” he greeted, not bothering to hide the bemusement in his tone._

_“Yes, hello, Jack,” she sassed back, huffing. If he’d been a gambling man, he’d have bet for a hand on the hip and narrowed eyes. He wasn’t sure if that particular ‘I don’t have time for your bullshit’ look was one she used on everyone, or if it was reserved especially for him, but he was deeply fond of it either way. “How do you know Concetta Fabrizi?”_

_He also couldn’t resist teasing her when that was the mood she was in. “How do_ you _know Concetta Fabrizi?”_

_“Jack,” she ground out, and he smirked, leaning back in his desk chair and half-closing his laptop._

_Perhaps he was a gambling man_ _–_ _at least when it came to his life, anyway._

_“I helped solve her husband’s murder last year.”_

_“Well, where was I?”_

_“In Tasmania, if I recall correctly_ _–_ _something about a fake thylacine and a dead zoo keeper?”_

_She hesitated. “Well, I don’t recall you mentioning her.” And the words came out as close to haughty as he thought he might ever have heard her sound._

_Jack grinned._

_“Jealous?”_

_He’d worked the case for Concetta, not with her, so Phryne hardly had reason to be – but the idea of her taking exception to him working a case with someone else tickled him._

_“Of a mob boss’s widow? I hardly think so.”_

_“She was very helpful to the investigation,” Jack quipped. “Very accommodating, lots of useful insights.”_

_“Oh, yes, I’m sure you were quite taken with her_ insights. _”_

_That brought him up short._

_“Grateful, was she?” Phryne continued, though, unprompted. “Appreciative of the big strong Detective Inspector who swept in and saved the day?”_

_“Er, Phryne,” Jack replied, now more confused than anything. This didn’t sound like it was just about Concetta being involved in the case… “Where is this going?”_

_“Oh, I’m just trying to get a clear picture on everything,” she shot back, pitch rising considerably in a way which, without seeing her, he couldn’t quite tell if was in false innocence or increased anger. Perhaps it was both._

_“I’m still struggling to understand the connection between you and Concetta? Or how you know that I know her, for that matter.”_

_“I’m investigating the murder at the Carbone’s restaurant.”_

_“_ I’m _investigating the murder at Carbone’s restaurant,” Jack shot back, frowning._

 _“Yes,” Phryne said, voice clipped. “So I found out_ _–_ _when I went to speak to Concetta Fabrizi. Took me a minute, though, since she spent the whole interview talking about ‘Dear Gianni’. Imagine my surprise when she asked if I was the lady who worked with him.”_

_Jack swallowed, feeling suddenly nervous._

_“Well, what else did she say?”_

_“Curious what secrets she gave away?” Phryne countered, voice still sitting in that oddly high-pitch which he wasn’t altogether sure he understood. He hoped he didn’t understand it, anyway_ _–_ _the idea of her talking to Concetta was… concerning._

 _He’d frequented Strano’s for a while after the case_ _–_ _mostly because the food was damn good, but also because it served as a decent cover to check in with the family. He’d not managed to persuade any of them to become official CI’s following Fabrizi’s death, but they fed him the odd tidbit with his dinner from time to time_ _–_ _and infrequent as the information was, it always tended to prove invaluable._

 _Concetta had taken to joining him to eat when he was there, as well. For the most part they talked about the strange pain they shared of losing (in one way or another) a spouse whom you no longer actually loved_ _–_ _and it was oddly comforting to be able to discuss it with someone with similar insights. He hadn’t altogether meant to confide in her about Phryne_ _–_ _more he had just started mentioning her without any conscious knowledge of doing so_ _–_ _and one day Concetta had just called him on it._

“Mary, mother of God, will you just tell the woman you love her, already, Gianni,” _–_ _was how she’d phrased it._ “Before you eat my family out of pasta, huh?”

_Jack had almost choked on his ravioli, and then gone home to stare at his bedroom ceiling and wonder why fate had been cruel enough to make him fall in love with a square peg to his heart’s round hole._

_The fact was, though, that Phryne didn’t want to get married. Phryne didn’t want a relationship, period_ _–_ _had never been coy about that fact_ _–_ _and Jack just… couldn’t do casual, never had been able to. Not the way Phryne did causal and certainly not coupled with the depth of his feelings for her. Jack wanted marriage – a steady, monogamous partnership – Phryne very much didn't, and_ _that left them at something of an impasse._

 _He could live with it, though_ _–_ _of course he could. She was his best friend, and that friendship meant more than any of the ridiculous yearnings of his heart. It wasn’t fair to put emotions on her that she had always made clear she wasn’t interested in having any part in herself._

_He just hoped Concetta hadn’t said anything too revealing that might make things awkward for them._

_Jack cleared his throat. “Just curious if she had any information on the case.” He did his utmost to keep his voice light, uncoloured by his descending panic that Phryne might_ know _; that she might have discovered his secret and think it easier to cast him out and cut him off lest he start demanding things of her he had no right to._

_“Mm,” Phryne hummed. “Lots.”_

_Jack waited, but she stayed silent._

_“Were you planning to share?” he inquired, “Or do I need to arrest you for obstruction of justice?”_

_“I’ll share what I know when you tell me about Concetta, Jack.”_

_Jack laughed, trying to make it sound casual but mostly failing. “I thought I had.”_

_“You said you helped solve her husband’s murder, I’m failing to understand how that led to her speaking so…” she trailed off, clearly searching for the right word. “So_ highly _of you. Or how she knows anything about me.”_

 _“Maybe I’m just incredibly good at my job?” he shot back, then winced. He was good at his job_ _–_ _excellent at it_ _–_ _but Phryne was also far too intelligent to be hoodwinked into thinking his friendship with Concetta was instead just year old gratitude._

_“You’re evading the question.”_

_“On the contrary,” he argued, anyway._ _“I’m offering possible explanations for her praise.”_

_“Offer a few more then.”_

_“Grief?” he retorted, finding himself getting annoyed. It was clear she was digging for something_ _–_ _he just wasn’t sure_ what _. Surely, if Concetta had spilt his secrets then this would not be the path she’d take to try and get him to reveal them himself? This sounded more, frankly, like she suspected something was going on between them – though if anything that thought made him angrier._ _He was allowed to have friends, after all, and they were both not nearly so old fashioned as to think that they couldn’t have friends of different genders without there being more to it._

_Hell, they were technically friends of different genders without there being more to it._

_There was just… more to it._

_Regardless, he didn’t understand why she didn’t just come out and ask it – if that was truly what she wanted to know – since she was generally pretty abrupt about these things._

_“Oh, I’m sure you can come up with something better than that, Jack.”_

_He sighed, shaking his head in complete confusion. Phryne was stubborn as all hell, but she wasn’t normally belligerent with it and her aggression confused him._ _He was, at least, losing the fear that Concetta had blabbed (with a little guilt in regards to not having faith in his friend in the first place) since – for whatever faults she had – Phryne was not cruel, and goading him into confessing like this would be. That still left the question of what she_ _was digging for, though, and he couldn't help but come to the conclusion that_ _she actually_ was _angling to know whether something had happened between them. He just wasn’t altogether sure_ _why._

_There was a puzzle piece missing that he didn’t have the faintest clue where to look for._

_Either way, he was tired of playing._

_“We chat,” he admitted, finally. “Strano’s is a favourite restaurant of mine, and Concetta and I have both had a marriage end_ _–_ _one way or another_ _–_ _it can be nice to talk to someone about that. We’re friends.”_

_“Oh,” Phryne replied, the word a soft exhalation. She remained silent for several more seconds. “Just friends?”_

_And for a moment_ _–_ _a brief, brief moment which he did his utmost to end before it could become a full hesitation_ _–_ _Jack wondered if he’d actually been right about her being jealous… but wrong on the reasonings. He shook it off though, the thought absurd._

_“Just friends,” he confirmed, and kept it as steady and sincere as he could._

_He listened to her let out a breath, oddly curious what might come out of her mouth next_ _–_ _what any of this odd conversation had really meant in the first place. Then she spoke again, the words business like, everything else gone from her tone._

 _“Right, well, I’m going to the docks to check out a lead_ _–_ _but I’ll swing by later and catch you up on what I find?”_

 _Jack opened his mouth to reply_ _–_ _to remind her that if she had a lead she should be sharing it with him_ now _, to remind her to be careful considering this was almost definitely mafia related, to remind her (as foolish as the sudden urge to do so might have been) that even if there were things he confided in others about, it didn’t change the fact that she was his best friend. She’d always be his best friend, if that was what she wanted._

 _“Speak to you later!” she called, though, before he could say any of them_ _–_ _and Jack closed his eyes against the silence she left behind her._

_Of all the strange conversations he and Phryne had shared over the months – years, now, he realised – of their friendship (and by God, they had been multitudinous) Jack definitely felt that this ranked high amongst them._

_For the most part_ _–_ _aside from the obvious, of course_ _–_ _they were unfailingly honest with each other, but he couldn’t help the feeling that he really had been missing something on this occasion. He just had no idea what._

 _The jealousy theory was ridiculous_ _–_ _wishful thinking at best and utter projection at worst_ _–_ _but he was struggling to understand why else she might have been so particular about the nature of his and Concetta’s relationship._

_Maybe she’d just taken objection to the idea that he had been dating and not thought to mention it to her? That would make sense, he supposed. When she had been his friend since before his divorce had even been finalised it might follow that she’d be a little perturbed by the idea of him hiding as big a development as a new relationship from her._

_It would also explain why she’d been so quick to let it go again once the misunderstanding had been cleared up._

_That had to be it, he decided, and reopened his laptop to start going over crime scene photos._

_Anything else was pure fantasy._

*

The sound of voices on the other end of the phone roused Jack from his thoughts, and he came around just in time for Phryne’s hushed, “Well, we’re here. I have to go with them so they can process the license suspension and then… God, I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do, yet. I suppose I’ll just have to update you once I’ve worked it out.” 

“Alright,” Jack replied, instead of any of the many other things that swam into his fevered mind as options. 

_“I love you,”_ first and foremost, and _“Please just don’t do anything stupid.”_

 _“I don’t need to marry you, I just need_ you _,”_ was a strong contender as well, and even, potentially, _“I'm positive now that I have quite a bad fever and I do find that mildly concerning.”_

She didn’t need any of them right now, though – and God knew what she might do if he let her know he’d started displaying symptoms.

Probably steal a damn police car. 

“Just be careful, won’t you?” he asked.

“I will,” she replied, and then she was gone. 

Jack let out a heavy sigh, tossing his phone down and burrowing further under his blanket. 

He was going to have to call Mac again, he knew he was, but he needed time to process first. 

Phryne had been upset, audibly, when she’d thought he didn’t want her there – but that was no surprise, really, as close as they were. Any friend might have been upset, too, on the receiving end of that carelessly worded comment. That, alone, didn’t really mean anything. 

The memories, though, odd conversations along the way, each of which he’d filed in turn – sure they could not mean what they seemed to – they were of more interest. 

Looking back – at Concetta, at Angela, at half a dozen looks he’d caught in the corner of his eye when he’d been talking to witnesses or suspects who might have been more obliging than quite necessary – it really _did_ seem like Phryne, for several months now, had been acting... jealous. 

Over him. About him. In a way that was not at all indicative of someone _uninterested_ in romance. If she wanted to sleep with him, he supposed that did make sense – but not _only_ if she wanted to sleep with him, surely? 

Phryne’s lovers had always been transient, her trysts open and non-committal. Even when she’d been having an affair with a young businessman – early on in her and Jack’s blossoming friendship – and he’d broken it off to go and get married, she had seemed totally unphased by it. 

Phryne didn’t put her heart into her sex life, and so jealousy was not something he had ever thought to see from her. 

Certainly not around him, who she was decidedly not sleeping with. She might have made it clear that she would, were he not so disinclined towards casual sex, but that still didn’t explain the jealousy – did it?

It was true, he didn’t have proper reason to believe Phryne might be interested in any sort of commitment. She’d never said as much. It was also true, though, that some of her actions in recent months – certainly when examined as a whole now – might actually be reason to at least _suspect_. 

Even without the presumed jealousy, there had been more to their interactions lately that he was now realising might just have been providing a steady, silent source of hope to him in the run up to his own epiphany. There had been moments, scattered here and there amongst their usual conversations and banter, where she had seemed on the verge of saying something, expressing something – something that might just have been deeper than their regular, harmless flirtation. 

He'd just been too blind to register that’s what she might have been doing at the time. 

*

_“What are you reading?”_

_“Hm?” Jack hummed, stirring from the book in his lap and turning in the direction of his phone where it sat, on the coffee table, by his whiskey. “Oh, just poetry,” he replied._

_“Poetry, Jack, really?” Phryne shot back. “I’m wading through tax returns over here and you’re getting weepy over Keats?”_

_Jack chuckled softly, reaching for his drink to take a swig and then picking up his phone as he replaced the glass again, moving it closer. He glanced down briefly to check the call time as he did, seeing it just ticking past two hours and smiling involuntarily. They’d been silent most of it, after the initial catch up, Phryne slogging through her father’s finances on the other end and only piping up with the odd curse, or grumble about her parentage, every now and then_ _–_ _but he found he enjoyed the companionship of her silence almost as much as the exhilaration of her conversation._

_Especially when she was so far away and he had been missing her so very much._

_“Hey,” he countered. “I offered to help with that.”_

_“Yes, well,” she huffed. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of your murder when you die of boredom.”_

_“Appreciated.”_

_“God, I don’t know how he got things in such a mess,” she said then, with a groan. “I’m going to be stuck here for months, at this rate_ _–_ _I should have known this bloody reburial nonsense was just another trap to try and get me back involved in their nonsense again.”_

_Jack tried to tamp down the instinctual tug of disappointment at the idea she might have to extend her trip, focusing back on the matter at hand._

_“I don’t understand why he can’t just get an accountant to deal with it all.”_

_“Because the old bastard flat out refuses to hire one. Says he doesn’t trust them.”_

_“Well,” Jack hummed. “That I understand.”_

_“Jack,” she grit out. “You’re not helping.”_

_He chuckled again. “Sorry.”_

_“No, you’re not,” she snapped, petulant. “You’re enjoying the image of me going slowly out of my mind, trapped inside a single dusty room with nothing but paper for company. Admit it, Jack, you’re finding this all hilarious.”_

_Jack reached back for his whiskey glass. “I wouldn’t say enjoying it,” he teased. “More... appreciating the irony of you finally having to stay still for five minutes.”_

_“Hmm,” was her response, and then she fell silent, apparently returning to her task, and Jack shook his head with a fond smile and returned his attention to the book on his lap._

_Several minutes later, her voice came again, infuriated._

_“For the love of… Jack, can you just read to me or something, I can’t take much more of this. Even Keats would be better than this monotonous bullshit.”_

_Jack smirked. “You’re_ assuming _it’s Keats.”_

_“Who is it then?”_

_“Dickinson.”_

_There was a shuffling sound from the other end, then she spoke, “You have my attention.”_

_Jack bit back the smirk toying at his mouth and took another sip of whiskey before placing his glass down again and picking the book back up. He flipped through pages until he came upon an entry that he thought might entertain her. Clearing his throat, he started to recite._

_“She rose to his requirement_ _–_ _dropt the playthings of her life to take the honourable work_ _of woman, and of wife.”_

_Phryne let out a soft, amused snort as he began, but waited for him to finish the full poem before speaking._

_“God, but she was a wise woman.”_

_Jack chuckled in response. “I thought you’d appreciate that one.”_

_"Mm," she hummed, a quiet assent. “Though the truly tragic part is that the patriarchy hasn’t changed all that much since Emily Dickinson was lamenting it in meter.”_

_“Sad, but true,” he agreed, softly. “And men still expect women to abandon their own freedoms to marriage the world over.”_

_There was a brief hesitation, then Phryne replied, voice low, “That’s a pretty damning assessment, wouldn’t you say? For a man who holds marriage in such high regard.”_

_Jack swallowed, fiddling with the pages of the book._

_He supposed it was, really, but then he’d never seen marriage as an occasion for one spouse to compromise over the other. Marriage, he had always thought, should be a contract between equals and thus it was less marriage in general he was damning than those who used it unjustly to control their partner._

_Strangely, though, he found her comment about his regard for it sitting oddly with him_ _–_ _as if the implication that he valued it so highly was offending him somehow._

 _It was true, though. He did hold marriage in high regard, didn’t he? He certainly always had… had always felt it was the physical expression of those things which he valued so dearly. He’d always been traditional like that – raised like that, sure of that_ _–_ _and proud of the view, moreover. He had always taken Phryne’s teasing of his old fashioned views on marriage lightly, as well_ _–_ _knowing that they were meant thus. Their views were just misaligned, but neither had ever judged the other for them (whatever frustrations it might have caused in regards to any latent attraction they shared – or to Jack's foolish heart, besides)._

 _Now, though, he felt an odd twinge of defensiveness_ _–_ _as if, for whatever reason, he didn’t want her thinking that about him, anymore. As if he didn’t want her thinking that he still_ _did_ _value marriage as much as she’d suggested._

 _And wasn't that just absurd? He'd never been ashamed of his views on marriage, never felt the need to hide or downplay his feelings. What the hell did it mean if now, suddenly, he did? ..._ did _he still value marriage the same?_

_“Jack?” Phryne interrupted his line of thought. “You alright over there?”_

_He shook himself abruptly from his woolgathering, returning to the conversation._

_“Well, I never said it was what I believe marriage_ should _be,” he answered, finally, dismissing that strange thought path his mind had started wandering. “Just what many make of it.”_

_Phryne said nothing for a moment, and Jack returned his attention to the pages, flipping through them to distract himself from the odd direction of his thoughts – and how much he was finding it unsettled him._

_“Read me another one,” she murmured, then, and Jack licked his lips and returned his attention fully to the book – grateful for the requested distraction._

_He leafed through absently, searching for something that might appeal to her particularly more than others._

_Then he turned a page and stopped short._

_Jack looked at the poem that stared back at him from the page, contemplating._

_It was almost comical how accurately the words there reflected the inner workings of his heart, how they mirrored_ _–_ _in perfect black and white_ _–_ _the things that he_ would _say were romance not something they had ruled out between them; were she or he differently inclined and their pieces fit together in a way that allowed for it._

_They were sentiments he could never express, in plain speak, that he doubted she would be all that receptive to if he did._

_Here they were, though, packaged in a poem in a book she had requested he read to her._

_The deniability was plausible enough, and Jack was on his second whiskey._

_He also_ missed _her, more than he cared to admit to even himself, and perhaps the distance was what pushed him the final inch, throwing caution to the wind._

_“Wild nights, wild nights, were I with thee,” he recited, voice low, one ear fixed on his phone and any audible reaction she might give. “Wild nights should be our luxury.”_

_Jack wondered if he imagined the soft hitch of breath from the other end_ _–_ _but decided for his own sanity to ignore the question of its existence and continue whilst he still had the nerve to._

 _“Futile_ _–_ _the winds_ _–_ _to a heart in port. Done with the compass, done with the chart.”_

 _He took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself before finishing, willing the final words out more than actively speaking them. _“__ _Rowing in Eden, ah_ _–_ _the sea. Might I but moor_ _–_ _tonight_ _–_ _in thee.”_

_Phryne said nothing for a minute in which Jack could hear only the thudding of his own heart, anxiety rising in anticipation of her response until her voice finally broke the silence._

_“Well,” she started, clearing her throat after the murmured word, and something about her tone had him sitting up straighter, pulse quickening. “Unfortunately, I don’t see many wild nights in my immediate future_ _–_ _certainly not with all this crap to sort through, but...”_

_She paused again for a moment in which Jack wondered if his heart might beat completely out of his chest._

_“Maybe I’ll get luckier when I’m home again.” And it was phrased like a statement, yet it felt like a question._

_Jack swallowed, one hand gripping the book so tightly he was sure he was giving himself paper cuts._

_“Maybe you will.”_

_It was a ridiculous thing to say_ _–_ _to flirt like the offer was on the table when nothing had changed and they still both knew it wasn’t going to happen, and yet Jack couldn’t help feeling like something about this was different._

 _The intent felt, well,_ intentional _. From both of them_ _–_ _though he didn’t know what sort of fire they thought they were playing with if that was truly the case._ _Perhaps the distance was just making them bolder_ _–_ _after all, it wasn’t like either of them could deliver on any promises made, and so the threat of doing something they’d regret seemed somewhat nullified._

 _After another moment’s quiet, Phryne’s voice came again_ _–_ _an oddly breathless whisper that had more than just his heart tensing. “Jack, I…”_

_Whatever she might have followed it with, though, was abruptly cut off by a muffled call from the other end._

_“Oh for fuck’s… No, it’s not scrap paper, Dad, it’s your bloody bank statements!” she called to the voice, then appeared to turn her attention back to him. “Ugh, Jack, I’m sorry I’m going to have to go before he starts doing something utterly ridiculous like shredding things from HMRC before I can see them. Then I really_ will _never be able to come home.”_

_Jack took a shaky breath, trying to fight down the strange surge of disappointment. “Of course, don't worry. I’ll speak to you…” but he trailed off, feeling that he should let her make the shout._

_“Soon,” she finished for him, though, fast. “Let’s talk soon, Jack_ _–_ _please?”_

_And if he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she meant about more than Emily Dickinson._

_“Let’s,” he echoed, though, and then bid her good night (or good morning, he’d still not quite got his head around the time difference)._

_Once the call was ended, Jack pushed the poetry book to one side, and reached for his whiskey again, draining the glass._

_He stared at the empty receptacle for several minutes, then sighed and put it down again, grabbing his phone and rising from the sofa to get ready for bed._

_Whatever madness had overcome him, it still didn’t change any facts. They could flirt until the cows came home, but it wouldn’t make a relationship actually work between them._

_That would require something bigger to shift in their perspectives, something he knew neither of them would ever expect or ask from the other and he didn’t expect would happen anytime soon._

_He certainly wasn’t going to hold his breath._

*

Jack let his head fall back against the sofa, eyes falling closed as he considered the memory. 

The funny part was that it had only been a few weeks after that conversation that his epiphany had come, standing in his kitchen after dropping her and her (frankly ridiculous amounts of) luggage back home, and immediately before dropping a jar of pesto on his foot.

At the time though, he’d still been confused by his own emotions, tormented by their distance and their differences.

He’d been too caught up in his own confusions on the matter to pay attention to everything Phryne had been saying beyond words. To pay attention to the fact that he had tipsily read her a love poem and she had been _responding_ – and not necessarily unfavourably, either, but with a flirtation that had felt weighted in a way he hadn't bothered to even try and understand. 

She had been right, all those months ago, when she’d made the point about him picking up on hints. He was an excellent detective but, he was painfully aware, he had a terrible habit for being obtuse when it came to emotion. 

So, then maybe… maybe he really _had_ been being oblivious to her hints? 

Maybe his original optimism hadn't been about forgetting the truth of her priorities, after all. Maybe he had actually just been bending in tandem with her, each of their hearts responding to clues from the other, but unbeknownst to either of them. Maybe both their priorities _had_ changed – both ready to meet in an as yet unexplored middle ground of their joint creation, not something that either of them might have imagined themselves having, but something uniquely theirs.

Something that could work. 

God knew, Jack would never ask her for anything she wasn’t willing to give freely but – now he thought about it – it really did seem like she might have been _trying_ to give it to him. Or at the very least check if he was home to receive it. 

With a sudden, crushing realisation – Jack wondered if maybe she hadn’t actually been trying for quite some time and he, in all his own damn pining, had totally missed the clues. 

All the clues. 

Including her driving across half the damn country in a day to try and get to him during an epidemic. 

“Holy shit,” Jack breathed, externalising the realisation as it hit him. He had to fight down the sudden compulsion to just grab his phone and call her until she answered, to spill his entire heart out and damn the consequences – just on the off chance that he was right, and his ignorance had been hurting her. Instead he sat up, pushing the blanket down where he suddenly felt overheated and resting his palms on his knees, trying to ground himself. 

If he was right, if she really was feeling inclined towards something more – that meant every proposition she had thrown him in recent months had been completely intentional, and completely heartfelt. 

And he had been steadily rejecting all of them. 

No wonder she’d been upset about his damn outburst – he had inadvertently been making it seem like he didn’t want her this whole time. 

Jack fought down a sudden wave of nausea before realising with frustration that it was not, in fact, a solo one. He made it to the bathroom just in time, tripping over his own feet a little in his dizziness and retching up the soup. 

He wiped his mouth and then took a steadying breath, shifting so that he could sit with his back against the wall, letting his head fall back as he did. 

He really needed to call Mac, he thought, but the idea of getting off the floor right at that moment seemed largely impossible and, in his hurry, he had left his phone on the sofa. 

Jack sat there for a moment, focusing on his breathing, on the realisations of the last twenty minutes. 

On Phryne. 

He didn’t notice himself losing consciousness, the tendrils of sleep curling around him, until he startled awake again, God knew how long later, to the incessant sound of banging.

He blinked, focusing in on the sound – which appeared to be coming from his front door. Someone was knocking, quite aggressively and – distantly, through his haze – he thought he could hear them calling his name. 

Jack tried to stand, but his body seemed non-responsive, and he found himself with his face against the cold tile of the floor instead, blinking against the blurriness in his vision. 

The next thing he was aware of was the hurried sound of footsteps approaching, stopping once they reached the bathroom door. 

Then words, fond and frustrated. “Oh, Jack, you bloody idiot.” 

And darkness returned.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The two poems Jack reads:**
> 
> She rose to His Requirement—dropt  
> The Playthings of Her Life  
> To take the honorable Work  
> Of Woman, and of Wife—
> 
> If ought She missed in Her new Day,  
> Of Amplitude, or Awe—  
> Or first Prospective—Or the Gold  
> In using, wear away,
> 
> It lay unmentioned—as the Sea  
> Develop Pearl, and Weed,  
> But only to Himself—be known  
> The Fathoms they abide—
> 
> *****
> 
> Wild nights – Wild nights!  
> Were I with thee  
> Wild nights should be  
> Our luxury!
> 
> Futile – the winds –  
> To a Heart in port –  
> Done with the Compass –  
> Done with the Chart!
> 
> Rowing in Eden –  
> Ah – the Sea!  
> Might I but moor – tonight –  
> In thee!


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay, guys! I take back everything I said about Chapter 5, _this_ one was the arsehole. Also they're just getting exponentially longer - I swear I'm going to rein it back in, there was just a lot of ground I wanted to cover here and it it ended up taking many words.

Phryne was furious. 

Mostly at the New South Wales Police Force – and their ridiculous traffic laws – but a little at Jack, and a little at herself, were she being honest. 

If she hadn’t gone and got bloody emotional then none of this would be happening. 

It had all just been a bit much though, out of nowhere and all at once, and she hadn’t been able to hold it in any longer. The panic, the stress, the exhaustion of both those and the drive as well, besides. Then there had been the sheer damn weariness already caused by her emotions, by carrying them around like a weight in her heart from the moment she’d realised they were there. 

She’d thought she was fine about it, truly, about loving Jack and knowing he might never be able to love her back the same – not for exactly who she was, anyway, not in a way that meant they could ever do anything about it. She’d thought she was alright just burying her love, keeping calm and flirting on like her heart didn’t ache a little in her chest every time she looked at him. Clearly, though, that wasn’t the case.

Not if her reaction to his seeming rejection had been anything to go by. 

Jack had been steadily rebuffing her increased advances for months, but never aggressively and – intentional or not – his outburst had struck a nerve she hadn’t even appreciated was so raw. 

His apology had been heartfelt, though, a desperation apparent in his apology that said he really couldn’t bear her thinking what he’d seemed to know she already was. He didn’t want her to think he didn’t care, had been emphatic about it, had even… well, she wasn’t altogether sure what he’d been going to say before the damn police had shown up, but she was certainly anxious to know. 

If only she could just get home to talk to him about it. 

The problem was that the chances of that were looking increasingly slim, now. She had done her absolute best to charm the officers, had even briefly stopped by the idea of straight up bribing them (though she hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to make the offer) but it had all been to no avail. It hadn’t helped her cause that they’d been young and clearly a little too fond of the gym, either. Charming a charmer was always harder work, and she hadn’t exactly been in the mood to pander to man-children who needed to learn how to use a razor. 

It had been about all she could do not to argue with the license suspension and get herself arrested in the process. 

But now she was stuck, stranded in a police station in the middle of nowhere, three and a half hours from home with two and a half hours left to get there. 

They weren’t the best odds, even she had to admit.

Still, she’d had worse, and she’d come far enough that she was far from inclined to give up yet. Certainly not considering that, the more she thought about it, the more she felt like Jack had been _saying something_ – and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to find out what. 

It was with that thought in mind that she approached the constable at the desk, one final Hail Mary of a plan forming in her mind. 

“Excuse me?” she asked, with the most winning smile she could muster. The woman at the desk looked up, one eyebrow raised in question. 

Phryne decided she really was glad she’d never had much occasion to work with the New South Wales police – they were all alarmingly less obliging than their Victorian counterparts. 

“Yes?”

She bit down the irritation that her exhaustion was bringing to the surface, keeping her smile fixed. “I don’t suppose you could tell me where the nearest airport is, could you?”

“Nothing round here,” the woman responded with a chuckle. “We’ve got the airfield, but that’s only private planes and I can’t tell you if the owners would be around, not since everything’s closing down with this damn flu. Other than that it’s all just military planes, won’t be much good to you.”

Phryne’s ears pricked up at the second option, though, attention caught. 

“Military planes?” she pressed, and the constable gave her a look that said she definitely thought she was a sandwich or two short of a picnic. Not that Phryne really cared. 

At this point she wasn’t even sure that would be an incorrect assessment. 

“Yeah,” she continued, though, gaze bemused. “Used to be a big American army base in World War Two – they have all these old planes in a museum there.”

Phryne felt herself deflate, frustration mounting. This was clearly a waste of time. 

“So, antiques?” she asked with a huff. 

“Mhmm,” the constable hummed in confirmation and Phryne half turned to leave. “Although there’s the replicas, I guess, they fly them sometimes.”

She stopped, looking back at the other woman, pulse thudding. “And who owns the replicas?”

*

_“Tell me you love me.”_

_“What have you done?” Phryne laughed at Jack’s exasperation, grinning at the paramedic bandaging her free arm._

_“Nothing serious, before you start panicking. Just a… teensy little plane crash.”_

_“_ What _?”_

_“Not from the air!” she assured him, moved as she always was by the depth of his concern for her. “We were taxiing and it just… went a bit wrong.”_

_“Are you injured?” he demanded. “Where are you now?”_

_“Oh, I’m fine, it’s barely a scratch. I do now owe the RAAF a plane, however.”_

_“The RAAF?” Jack asked then, clearly confused. “Phryne, were you flying a_ military _plane?”_

 _“Well,” she hummed, spotting Lyle and waving at him as he finished up with his own paramedic. He’d had his shoulder reset, by the looks of it, the arm held across him in a sling_ _–_ _and there was a rapidly darkening bruise on his forehead, but otherwise he seemed fine, shooting her a brief (if slightly tight) smile before following after his red-faced CO. She couldn’t help but be relieved, despite the trouble they were no doubt in_ _–_ _it would be a terrible kind of irony if they’d survived an_ actual _plane crash together only to die still on the damn tarmac. “_ I _wasn’t flying it. Lyle was.”_

 _“Ly_ _–_ _Compton?” Jack demanded, something entering his voice which she might, briefly, have even taken for jealousy. “What were you doing in a plane with… actually, you know what, don’t answer that_ _–_ _I don’t want to know.” Normally, the words would have been joking, but this time there was an edge, an edge that had Phryne frowning._

 _“We were just reminiscing, Jack,” she told him, feeling oddly defensive. She had, in truth, been considering sleeping with him. She_ would _have slept with him, had their mishap in military property not interrupted their verbal foreplay._

_What was odd, though, was the way that that knowledge sat uneasily in her gut. As if doing so might have been a mistake, somehow._

_And wasn’t that just ridiculous?_

_She’d known Lyle Compton for years_ _–_ _the man had saved her damn life_ _–_ _and she certainly shouldn’t feel any guilt in wanting to remember the feeling of euphoria that came in the moments after cheating death. Or in wanting an orgasm, for that matter._

_“Is that what the kids are calling it, these days?”_

_Phryne bristled. “Nothing happened, Jack,” she snapped, then abruptly wondered why that was how she’d chosen to phrase it. Not, ‘it’s none of your business’ or even a taunting, ‘it’s what_ I’m _calling it’ to rub in the fact that she would sleep with whoever she damn well wanted to regardless of what he might have to say about it._

 _Jack, for his part, seemed equally surprised by the defence_ _–_ _unprecedented as it was. He did, in general, keep his nose firmly out of her sex life. There was the occasional eye roll, or perhaps exasperated sigh when it turned out she’d happened to bed another person of interest in a case. There was even, sometimes, the odd snarky comment_ _–_ _but nothing that she wouldn’t hear just the same from Mac, or even Dot (were she feeling brave)_ _–_ _and nothing that ever came across as judgement or criticism. Had it been, he never would have become nestled into her heart and life the way he had._

 _Phryne had no time for slut-shaming_ _–_ _most especially not from her friends._

 _She had also never felt the need to justify her sexual activities, to excuse her choices,_ deny _them. It was all a little unsettling._

 _“Alright,” he murmured, quiet, a little stuttered_ _–_ _clearly as confused as she was by her choice of response. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”_

 _She huffed. “Oh, only my pride_ _–_ _and my reputation with the Air Force, but I’m sure I’ll manage.”_

_“Are they really going to make you buy them a new plane?” he asked, sounding somewhere between amused and sympathetic but not quite landing on either._

_“Almost certainly, if I don’t want to be charged with destruction of military property_ _–_ _besides which if I offer then they’ll probably be less inclined to court-martial Lyle, and I can’t really let him get in trouble when I’m the one who wanted to fly in the first place.”_

 _Jack hummed an agreement. “That’s remarkably chivalrous of you, Miss Fisher.” And that tone was there again, the one that shouldn’t be jealousy yet_ seemed _like it._

 _Phryne decided it was probably safer all round if she just ignored it. “Well, I do owe him my life_ _–_ _a couple of times over, actually. It’s only fair.”_

 _“If I save your life will you buy me a plane?” he shot back, joking this time_ – _and just like that she felt the equilibrium return._

_“You have saved my life, Jack,” she reminded him, wondering to herself as she did why the words came out so softly._

_Jack hummed in acknowledgement of this. “You’re right, I have. So, where’s my plane?”_

_She laughed. “How about we discuss it over dinner?”_

_There was the briefest hesitation on the other end, and then, “Weren’t you and Lyle planning to… reminisce some more?” This time there was no accusation, no jealousy_ _–_ _just an open question, free of any judgement or reproach._

_Oddly, though, Phryne felt like the question, and her answer, were still of the utmost importance._

_“I think we’ve reminisced enough for the time being,” she answered, a low, serious whisper, needing_ _–_ _though she didn’t know why_ _–_ _to be clear on the matter. “Besides,” she added then, breezier. “I have a feeling his superior offices wouldn’t take too kindly to my hanging around much longer. Plus then you can see with your own eyes that I’m perfectly fine, because I know you’re still worried.”_

 _“I’m not_ _–_ _” he protested, but cut off his own words, sighing. “No, you’re right, I am worried. You crashed a_ plane _, Phryne, you have to admit that that’s a little extreme even for you.”_

_She smiled. “It was barely a crash, Jack, more of a… derailment.”_

_“Mhmm.”_

_“I’m with the paramedic, I can put him on the phone if you like?” she teased, and she heard Jack sigh._

_“You know that you’re impossible, don’t you?”_

_“So, was that a yes for dinner or...”_

_“Your place?” he asked, and her smile widened._

_“Fabulous, sevenish?”_

_“Works for me.”_

_“See you later, then,” she replied, the words chirpy in her satisfaction_ _–_ _the day was definitely looking up again. “And Jack?” she added, not sure why, not sure why she suddenly felt the urge to clarify when she had already told him and he already knew, but letting the words spill forth regardless._

_“Yes?”_

_“I_ am _fine.”_

_Jack was quiet for a brief moment, then cleared his throat. “I know.”_

_If what she’d offered had been the right assurance, then she found that his words were the right answer, the words curling satisfaction into her stomach._

_She couldn’t stop him worrying, she knew that_ _–_ _wouldn’t necessarily want to, as touching as his care for her was_ _–_ _but his acceptance of her assurances, his willingness to swallow it down and carry on when once his worry and mistrust had nearly broken them, made something settle inside her, contented._

_She thanked the paramedic as he packed up his supplies, then turned her attention to her phone, sending off a quick text to Lyle._

Tell the boss to send me the bill. Do NOT get yourself discharged, let me take this one xx

 _In many ways, taking this one would actually be something of a relief. She had never really found a way to pay him back for Madagascar, and she didn’t generally like owing people_ _–_ _not even friends._

_Funny, she supposed, how she’d never seemed to mind owing Jack._

_Perhaps it was that they were paying each other back all the time, consistently matching each other sacrifice for sacrifice. Perhaps it was that she’d never heard Jack articulate the feeling that she did owe him, even jokingly, even when she_ did _. Perhaps it was just that she trusted him, implicitly, in a way she’d rarely trusted anyone before._

_Whatever it was, as she sat there staring down at the wrappings on her wrist, she found herself feeling strangely apathetic in regards to the fact she and Lyle had been interrupted._

_Whatever it might mean, she felt she would much rather Jack’s company this evening, anyway._

*

If there was one thing Phryne had always prided herself on, it was her powers of persuasion – and as such it was more of a relief than a surprise when she managed to convince the museum’s owner to meet with her. 

She wasn’t completely sure what her plan was for when she got there – considering she didn’t know a sane person who would just lend a priceless working replica plane to a total stranger – but she also wasn’t sure what other options she had left to her. 

Somewhere, at the back of her mind, she was aware of how utterly ridiculous this all was. 

The driving had been one thing, but was she actually planning to talk a man into letting her borrow a plane? Was she really in any fit state to fly one, if he did?

There was more to think about, too, other questions she’d not yet stopped to consider. Where she would land it, for starters, or what was happening with air traffic control given that airports were shutting down. There was even the question of how much legal trouble she might find herself in if she ignored their rules.

The worst part, she realised, as she sat in the taxi and watched the small town fly by, was that she wasn’t even sure what getting there _meant_ anymore. 

In her panic, her haste, Phryne had had only one thought in mind. She had been concentrating merely on the _getting there_ – not on the realities of what getting there might mean. The fact was, though, that even if she made it back by the lockdown – Jack was still in isolation. There was no way in hell, she knew, that he would let her see him even if she were in town. Short of breaking and entering and forcing herself into his company she was still going to be separated from him for at least another two weeks. 

The thought curdled with the adrenaline that had been fuelling her, tugging her from her determination back down to a slowly dawning and unpleasant reality. 

Whatever she did, she was going to be separated from him.

From everyone, really. Considering she’d been in a different state – a different two, now – the responsible thing to do would be to isolate herself as well when she got home. Dot lived with her mother and her grandmother (not to mention a whole host of siblings, nephews, nieces, and other assorted Catholic relations). Mac would be working, and having to remain as isolated as possible in the meantime. Cec had a baby at home, Bert had an elderly father, her Aunt _was_ elderly, and Hugh’s mother was having chemo. That was about the exhaustive list of people with whom she felt she might be able to endure two weeks of quarantine – and even that was something of a stretch (she certainly wouldn’t have picked her Aunt Prudence as a _first_ choice to be stuck in close quarters with, or even a second or a third). She couldn't risk any of them, though. 

The knowledge seemed to hit her all at once, knocking the wind out of her as it did. 

Whatever she did, whether she made it home or not, the fact was she was still going to be _alone_. 

For a fortnight, at least – though maybe even longer. She was going to be stuck, in her house, unable to go outside, unable to see anyone or do anything or _exist_ outside of the four walls of her home. 

Suddenly, briefly, Jack’s tropical island option looked wildly more appealing. That thought, though, she stamped quickly down again. Even if she did do it she’d be equally as miserable as were she to make it home to isolation – just from the guilt and the distance instead. 

None of the options were appealing. None of the solutions were satisfactory. 

With a fury that swirled in her gut, a despair that settled heavily on her chest, Phryne realised that – whatever happened in this scenario – she might not actually be able to _win_. 

It was unsettling beyond reason, and her fingers moved to her phone, desperate to speak to someone – Jack, Mac, Dot, _anyone_ to raise her from this funk before she had to speak to the museum owner. Predictably, perhaps, it blinked up at her with no signal. 

When this was over she was going to buy shares in fucking Telstra. 

Phryne took a deep breath, steadying herself. Much as she loved control, much as she loved knowing that she had a situation completely sussed and would find a way out of it one way or another, this was far from the first time she’d been faced with the less attractive alternative. 

She had nearly died more times than she could count on one hand, after all, forget the other horrors she had seen; the demons that had haunted her, followed her, plagued her until she had had no choice but to face them or be devoured. Janey’s disappearance had been one, the agony of losing a sister, of living without answers for so much of her life, for being proved right when there was no reward left in it but the burden of the knowledge. 

There’d been a childhood spent in poverty, too, with an abusive father and an absent mother. There’d been the sheer culture shock of being moved to the other side of the world and having luxury thrust upon her as if it might heal everything that had come before. There’d been the uncomfortable juxtaposition of being ripped from anonymous destitution to being an unexpected heiress and the press’ favourite rags to riches story before she’d so much as finished school. 

Then there had been the consequences of her desperate attempts to run from it all, the self-sought demons that had been summoned by her own naivety and foolishness. 

Then there had been René. 

*

_“I have to tell you something.”_

_She heard Jack hesitate on the other end of the phone, clearly concerned._

_“About the case,” she clarified. “There’s… there’s something I should have told you about it.”_

_“I assume it explains the break in?” he asked, sounding frustrated. On this occasion, she actually didn’t blame him. There was playing her cards close to her chest for the satisfaction of being a step ahead of him on investigations, and then there was allout obstruction of justice_ _–_ _and the fact that this entire case seemed now without doubt to revolve around her meant that lying any longer would be… well, that wasn’t how she necessarily fancied Jack using cuffs on her._

_The problem was, though, there was no easy way to say it. Where did she start? How did she spill this cursed part of her history to him when it was something she barely liked to think about?_

_For his part, Jack seemed to notice the hesitancy_ _–_ _unusual as he already knew it was for her. Their friendship had taken an odd path, but she could say without question that she was deeply enjoying its progression. Jack was a continuing source of mystery, never failing to surprise her in all the greatest ways._

 _She trusted him_ _–_ _and that, at least, would make this easier._

_“Phryne? Are you alright?”_

_She took a deep breath_ _–_ _glad to be doing this over the phone so she didn’t have to look at him. She didn’t want to see what the words would put in his face, didn’t want_ _–_ _if this revelation put him off their blossoming friendship_ _–_ _to see those thoughts settle into eyes that she had started taking such comfort in the kindness of._

_“I’m fine, Jack,” she affirmed, tucking her knees up under her chin. “But I need to tell you some things about my past… not very pleasant things… and if I’m going to then I need you to promise not to interrupt.”_

_“Phryne,” his voice swam in concern. “You don’t have to_ _–_ _”_

_“I do, though,” she sighed, “because I think this case might just be about me, actually. I think I might be the reason this is all happening.”_

_“Oh.”_

_She hummed an acknowledgement. “Will you promise not to interrupt?” she asked again, needing this. She knew she had to tell him, much as she might not want to, but she also knew that if he stopped her_ – _if he asked for clarification or repetition at any point before she had got all the words out_ _–_ _she may well not be able to continue._

_“Okay,” he breathed, and she sighed in relief. “Okay, I promise. Tell me.”_

_So she did. She started right at the beginning, when she’d been young and foolish and desperate to escape the claustrophobia of her new, public life. She explained how she’d disappeared off to Europe to backpack with nothing but a stack of cash she’d stolen from her father and a rucksack full of rubbish. She explained how she’d met a group of artists in Paris, how she’d been charmed by their bohemian lifestyle and their joie de vivre, how_ _–_ _when she’d run out of money and been too proud to call her parents_ _–_ _they’d offered her room and board in exchange for modelling. She told him how all that time she’d ignored the drug use, believed their excuses of how it fed their muse._

 _Then she took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and told him about René. Told him how he’d intrigued her at first, charmed her, seduced her. Told him how she’d almost believed his self-aggrandising claims that he was the next Picasso, taken in by the passion of all that creativity. She skipped over the details of what, precisely, had occurred between them_ _–_ _alluded to his controlling nature but unable and unwilling to delve into the details of his abuse. She did tell him about how she’d discovered the drug dealing, had arrived home one day to see the money being counted on their kitchen table._

 _Finally, she told him about how the police had approached her_ _–_ _how they’d asked her to be their informant, their eyes on the inside, to bring down the ring that René was part of._

_She told him how long she had stayed embroiled with a monster, the increasing horrors she had witnessed by his side, so that eventually he could be stopped. Told him how when it was all over she had taken the one painting she’d cherished and run without looking back again._

_She told him how their murder victims were both people she’d known back in Paris. That one of them had painted that same painting she’d taken_ _–_ _that had now been taken from her, in turn. She told him, voice shaking, how she had checked with French authorities that very evening and been informed that almost twenty years and a little good behaviour later, René had been released from prison, and that she was now certain that he was here, in Melbourne._

 _She didn’t tell him, explicitly, that it was her worst nightmare come to life_ _–_ _but she hoped that Jack might understand, anyway._

_From his tone, when he finally replied, it seemed that he did._

_“I’ll have officers put on your place_ _–_ _twenty-four hour guard, he won’t be able to touch you.” The words were firm_ _–_ _almost angry, though if that was what he was feeling he was choking it down well. She wondered if it was so she knew it wasn’t directed at her. “Phryne,” he added then, serious, earnest, and oddly soft. “We’ll keep you safe_ _–_ _if it is him, if he murdered Anatole and Henri and he’s here now_ _–_ _I swear that we’ll get him. We’ll get him and we’ll send him down for this_ – _he won’t see another day of freedom as long as he’s alive.”_

 _The vehemence of it, the determination in Jack’s words_ _–_ _when he had said nothing else, made no other comment or judgement on the demons of her past_ _–_ _made something curl with warmth somewhere deep inside her. She nodded, then remembered to herself that he couldn’t see, and took a shaky breath._

_“Thank you.”_

_It was all she really could say, and she hoped it would be enough._

_Once the case was over_ _–_ _René dead, Véronique in custody but (in a move that had honestly shocked Phryne almost speechless, considering the sheer number of witnesses to the crime) facing the downgraded charge of manslaughter, and her painting returned_ _–_ _she answered Jack’s call to hear an intriguingly repeated sentiment._

_“I have something to tell you,” he said, with little fanfare, and Phryne frowned, settling further into her chaise, fingers toying with the cushion she had hugged against her. The emotions the case had dragged up were still raw, uncomfortable, and she hated to admit it but she was feeling horribly shaken by it all._

_She really hoped that Jack wasn’t calling to tell her he couldn’t keep investigating with someone who’d been involved with a drug-ring_ _–_ _however briefly and well intentioned the involvement had been. That would probably be the straw for her, today_ _–_ _and she didn’t much like the idea of being the camel._

_“Go ahead,” and she tried to keep her trepidation out of the words._

_“When I was coming up on Junior Detective I was working with White Collar, but we shared a floor with Vice,” he replied, and Phryne felt her brows knit together at the non sequitur, but stayed silent, curious. “Vice had been working on a case for years trying to pin down an outfit that was running drugs into the city via cargo ships from China_ _–_ _but every time they thought they were close those guys were just one step ahead.”_

_Phryne’s hand stilled in its fiddling, interest piqued. She didn’t know what the point of this story was, nor why he was telling it, but she was intrigued nevertheless._

_“They realised they must have a leak in the department_ _–_ _and the only way to get ahead would be to put a guy on the inside, but it had to be someone outside of Vice, someone the leak wouldn’t immediately recognise… and they asked me.”_

_She blinked, realisation starting to dawn. “You went undercover?”_

_He hummed an affirmation. “I was in for nearly two years.”_

_Phryne felt her mouth fall open_ _–_ _what he was saying really hitting her. Jack hadn’t just done a quick undercover sting operation; he had gone deep. In an international drug ring by the sounds of it and the horrors that might have come with that… well she didn’t even necessarily have to imagine them._

 _She had had no idea_ _–_ _not even the faintest notion_ _–_ _that he had that darkness in his past. Darkness that echoed, nay, mirrored her own. Clearly, it was not something he often talked about, not something he liked to talk about_ _–_ _something which, again, she could relate to._

_He was telling her now, though, in the shadow of what had just come and everything that she had revealed to him._

_The enormity of it hit her in a wave_ – _the gift that Jack was giving her with this treasured, painful knowledge._

 _Not only was he returning a trust that she had been loath enough to give herself, but he was lamenting a trauma with her_ _–_ _one, it seemed, that they had both shared without realising until this point. She liked Jack, respected him, trusted him_ _–_ _but this, somehow, seemed to up the stakes. This was a darkness that they both had seen, and they both_ _–_ _separately, and yet just the same_ _–_ _had chosen to stand up in the face of._

_Jack, it appeared, had this whole time been warring demons of his own, and choosing every day not to let them win._

_“I’m sorry,” she whispered, when she realised she hadn’t spoken for long enough that it might seem rude_ _–_ _certainly in the face of what he’d just shared. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Jack.”_

 _“I’m not,” he murmured in response. “And I know you’re not sorry for what you did, either_ _–_ _otherwise you never would have done it. You stayed because it was the right thing to do, Phryne, not the easy one. We face that same choice almost every day, both of us.”_

_“We do,” she hummed, a quiet agreement. “But it keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?” she added with a small smile, feeling rather like she had lamented her demons long enough for the time being._

_Jack let out a soft chuckle. “Indeed it does.”_

_They were silent for a moment, then he spoke again. “You going to be alright?” The words were tender, but comfortingly free of condescension. She was not made of glass, and she appreciated that Jack didn’t seem inclined to treat her like she was._

_“I’m always alright, Inspector,” she replied. “Eventually.”_

_“Glad to hear it.”_

_“What about you?” she added, comforted in this seeming return to normal. “Will you be alright?”_

_He laughed again. “I’m always alright, Miss Fisher,” he echoed._

_They fell into a more comfortable quiet again, but then Phryne felt herself speaking without putting much thought into it, a strange urge inside her leading her to make the offer. “Jack?” she asked. “You know that if you’re ever not alright… you could talk to me about it, if you like.”_

_She heard him let out a breath_ _–_ _and wondered how long he might have been holding it_ _–_ _but when he answered, he sounded like the smile was well and truly back in his voice again. “Likewise,” he murmured. “Anytime.”_

*

Anytime, as it transpired, had come as soon as things had started escalating with Foyle’s case – and she’d found the concept of having him there at her shoulder, reminding her not to be afraid of shadows but knowing he wouldn’t judge her for a moment if she was, an enormous comfort. 

It had been after that, really, that their phone calls had started to become more frequent. Even though they rarely talked about the demons, the shadows, the pains of past history – she had found it comforting talking to someone who didn’t just know but _understood_ her context, and it appeared that he had felt much the same. 

Phryne sighed, looking back out of the window at the bare fields passing by, memory of that first time they’d truly opened up to each other rolling around her mind, Jack’s words floating out at her. 

_“You stayed because it was the right thing to do, Phryne, not the easy one. We make that same choice every day, both of us.”_

It was true; what was right versus what was easy was a battle that they faced consistently. It was a battle which they did, for the most part, win. 

It was not, however, a battle that she always liked that much. 

She wanted to be home – to be in Melbourne, in her house, near to everyone she loved even if she did have to stay away from them for a while. She didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere, bored out of her wits – potentially without even any decent damn phone service to stay in touch with people – for the next however long. 

Now, though, with the time to consider it – she couldn’t help but wonder if going home, as difficult as it might be proving in practice, was still the _easy_ choice. The choice that would make her happy, despite its potential consequences for others. There was a myriad of ‘what ifs’ surrounding her potential return; from how she’d get there to how everyone would respond – even to her own self-control when it came to staying quarantined. 

With temptation on her doorstep would she truly be able to stop herself from forcing her way in to see Jack? Going to see Mac? Dot? She had never done well with being bored, and being bored a few streets away from her friends seemed like a level of torture she wasn’t altogether sure she’d considered. 

What if she slipped up, and one of her friends' relatives was the resultant casualty?

Still, the chances of her having been exposed – remote as she’d been this last week – were pretty low, weren’t they? So long as she was responsible, didn’t stop to kiss any babies on the way home (and it wasn’t like _that_ was going to be a struggle for her) – surely, she would pose minimal risk? Enough to justify her making the easy choice for once, at least, to justify this little bit of selfishness… 

Her thoughts were interrupted as the driver turned up the radio in the front, the harsh voice of the news reporter cutting through her musings. 

_“The Prime Minister has now issued a ‘shelter in place’ order, requesting Australians to remain where they are and isolate to the best of their abilities to try and prevent further spread of the virus.”_

Phryne’s heart sunk. 

Well, that was sort of that, wasn’t it?

This was about the weight of what she wanted personally against an unprecedented national disaster. She had never been one for following rules, doing as she was told – and especially not for admitting defeat – but she had also more or less dedicated her life to helping people, whatever the cost. Was this, now, not the ultimate test of that – seeing that now the safety of everyone in the country was potentially at stake?

Her loved ones were safe – or safe as they could be – and Jack had been right, she reluctantly had to admit, when he’d told her it would be safer for her to stay away. It wouldn’t just be safer for her, though, and that was the thing. 

It would be safer for everyone.

Maybe boredom was just going to be the cost of helping people this time? Boredom, and not being able to see him. 

Phryne let out an irritated sigh – hating that she knew what she should do, hating that it was so misaligned with what she _wanted_ to do, hating everything about the damn situation. 

“Wait,” she called to the driver, eyes falling closed, gathering herself as she tried to process. “Wait, hang on.”

“Everything alright?” he asked, throwing a glance over his shoulder, and she grimaced back. 

“I...” she let out a soft groan, “I think I need to go back to town.”

The driver frowned. “You sure about that, we’re almost there?”

Phryne looked out of the window again – she could see the airfield, see the planes, lined up in neat rows just waiting to be flown. She ground her jaw, warring with herself, warring with her better judgment over what her heart so desperately wanted. 

On the seat beside her, her phone started buzzing, and she turned in surprise to see Mac’s name lighting up her screen. Frowning, she answered. 

“Mac?”

“Phryne, thank God,” Mac exclaimed, a frantic exhale, and it immediately made her panic. “I wasn’t sure if I’d get you – are you still on the road?”

“I…” Phryne stuttered, startled by Mac’s energy when she’d been so lost in her own moral melancholia. “Not exactly, what… Mac, what’s wrong?”

The hesitation was all she needed, fingers tightening around her phone, chest tightening in worry. 

“Tell me.”

“He’s sick, Phryne,” her friend breathed, no bullshit but sympathetic. “He mentioned that he felt dizzy and said he’d update me… then he didn’t – and I was passing anyway, so I thought I’d check, but he didn’t answer...”

“And?” Phryne demanded when Mac didn’t finish. 

“I found him half passed out on the bathroom floor.” 

“Oh god,” she gasped, “Where is he now, is he conscious? What about you were you wearing a mask? For God’s sake, Mac, isn’t one of you being sick enough?”

“I had a mask,” Mac replied, voice turning to that professional soothing tone she managed so well. “And gloves, so I’ll be no worse off than I am at work. I got him into bed, but he’s in and out of consciousness – he’s running a _bad_ fever, Phryne, and I don’t know how long it’s been like this for. When did you last speak to him?”

Phryne pulled the phone briefly away from her ear, checking the time. “Not long ago,” she shot back, aware of the panic in her tone but not altogether caring. “Maybe forty-five minutes? He sounded fine, he was…” she trailed off, taking a breath and trying her best not to ignore the roiling dread in her stomach. “He was _fine_ , Mac.”

“Maybe he was claiming to be fine,” Mac hummed, sounding unimpressed. “He also promised to call me if his symptoms started getting worse, which he didn’t.”

Phryne closed her eyes, trying to process. “You said he told you he was dizzy?” she asked. “When was that?”

“This morning.”

She felt it like a blow. 

“He’s been feeling ill all _day_?” 

“Well, yes, didn’t he –” Mac cut herself off, evidently putting the pieces together herself. “He didn’t say anything,” she realised aloud.

Phryne was silent for a moment, letting the information settle. 

If Jack was so feverish as to be unconscious, then surely he must have been feeling ill for hours – every time she had spoken to him, almost.

And he had said nothing. Not a _word_.

He had just let her whine at him about slow drivers and yell at him for asking her to stay safe. 

“Phryne?” Mac’s voice came again, concerned. “Don’t panic.”

She took another shaky breath, trying to keep them steady and abjectly failing. “Too late.”

“Well, then, panic _less_ ,” she instructed, and it at least managed to pull a laugh from Phryne, even if not an altogether happy one. 

“He didn’t say anything, Mac,” Phryne said then, shaking her head – furious, worried, desperate. “Why didn’t he _say_ anything?”

Mac let out a laugh of her own, though hers was amused. “Would you have?”

Phryne didn't reply – her friend already knew the answer to that. 

“See, you’re both as idiotic as each other.” 

And on that, Phryne knew she didn’t really have room to argue – not with Mac, anyway, who had known her too long and too well to leave her a leg to stand on. 

Instead, she focused on the important matter – the one that was eating at her, keeping her breathing shallow and anxious. “Is he going to be okay?”

She heard Mac sigh. “He will be if I have anything to bloody do with it.”

She nodded, trying to let Mac’s words assure her. 

“I wish I were there,” Phryne voiced her thoughts aloud, aware of the despair that hung in them but finding herself quite unable to mask it.

“How far away are you?” Mac asked, voice much softer, and Phryne’s chest tightened again. 

Why, she questioned no one in particular, could this information not have reached her _before_ she had started to feel the weight of social responsibility against her personal desires?

Why couldn’t Jack just have bloody _said_ something?

Probably, she supposed, because he knew she would have stopped at nothing had she been aware he was symptomatic. 

She hoped he knew that, anyway. 

“Too far,” Phryne breathed, eventually, in response. “Fuck, Mac,” and she only realised the tears were there when she heard them in her voice. “What do I do?”

“What do you mean – where are you?” 

“At the New South Wales border,” she sighed, and heard Mac curse lightly. 

“Jesus, Phryne – it’s gone ten.”

“I know.”

“Well what’s the plan? Are you flying?” From anyone else, the comment might have been sarcastic – but Phryne couldn’t help but love her friend for the fact she knew the question was genuine. She knew her far, far too well. 

“I was going to try,” Phryne replied. “And then I…” she trailed off, conflicted. There was little she hated more than giving up, and the decision she’d been halfway to making felt like it – even more so _now_. 

How could she stay away? How could she stop at anything less than everything to get back to him if he was really sick? 

How could she put her own personal desires ahead of everyone else in the country’s well being, either, though?

“You heard about the shelter in place?” Mac finished for her – always so adept at finding the roots of her conflicting feelings. 

“Mac,” she breathed, letting all the anguish she was feeling colour the words – vulnerable as she allowed herself to be with few but her old friend. “I don’t know what to do. Keeping going would be… it’s the wrong thing to do, I know that. Morally, socially. God, Mac, I mean what if I come back and I somehow spread it, what if I infect someone and they _die_ – all because I wanted to be with him?”

“What if he dies?” Mac asked, blunt, and Phryne’s mouth fell open in shock. 

“What?”

“Take it from someone who has to make decisions about people’s lives every day, darling, it comes down to what you’ll be able to live with, should the worst case scenario occur.”

“What I can live with?” Phryne echoed, confused – but eager for her friend’s wisdom. Normally, she had little problem with decision making. Normally, what her heart wanted and what was right lay in at least similar enough directions that she could achieve an all round satisfying result. She’d never had trouble (or qualms about) reaching North by travelling North East or West first. 

No matter how skilled she was at molding situations to her satisfaction, though, there was no easy way to reach North by travelling South, and therein lay the problem. 

“Look,” Mac sighed. “You’ve been in the middle of fucking nowhere, the likelihood that you’re carrying it is slim to none – so long as you’re responsible, don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred bucks – then there’s no reason to think you’d be putting anyone at risk. But will you be able to live with yourself if he doesn’t pull through this and you weren’t here?”

“Do you think he might not?” she pressed, heart in her throat. 

“That’s not the point.”

“What _is_ the point?”

“The _point_ , Phryne, is that I know you like to pretend like you’re bloody Atlas – but you’ve lost enough in your life, already, and I know how much he means to you. Whatever choice you make, I think you need to make it for you – and only you. Forget the world, for once.”

Phryne let out a humourless chuckle. “Easier said than done when the whole country’s descending into disaster, Mac.” It wasn’t like she hadn’t been considering it, though, even before Mac called – the repeated sentiment of her low risk a comfort that had her swaying dangerously on a choice she thought she’d all but made. 

“I know,” Mac hummed, gentle. “But do it, anyway.”

Phryne sucked in a breath, teeth sinking into her lower lip as she considered. Jack was fit and healthy – even with a fever, his chances of pulling through it were good. 

That didn’t mean he definitely _would_ , though. There was a reason, after all, that she had been so damned desperate to get to him in the first place.

If something were to happen to him, she would never forgive herself if she hadn’t tried everything in her power to get there, to see him, to be with him. To help. 

She couldn’t cure him – even Mac couldn’t do that, despite Phryne knowing she’d do everything possible to manage his symptoms – but if there was a chance, even the smallest chance, that her being there might help, _somehow,_ then she had to be. Didn’t she? 

Mac was right about the things she’d lost – but despite them (perhaps because of them, really) she had always felt the need to help others, to ensure justice for everyone she could. She had been fortunate enough to inherit money, and the power and influence that came with it, and she had learnt how to use it for the good of others. She had sacrificed much of that money, not to mention time and personal safety, purely to do her part in helping out those more needy than she. There wasn’t an awful lot she wouldn’t sacrifice to help someone, honestly, including her own life. 

Could she sacrifice Jack, though?

Could she sit in a motel room in the middle of nowhere whilst he suffered alone? While he _died_? It was a worst case scenario, but Mac had been all too right to present it to her. 

Phryne’s heart thudded in her chest, the weight of what she might truly be choosing between settling on her. 

When it came down to it, the question itself was oddly simple; everyone else, or Jack?

It unsettled her, churning her stomach into knots with this strange and unexpected window into her own priorities, when the gloves came off. She knew the answer, though – perhaps always had. 

Distressing as it was, there was only one choice she would ever be able to live with. 

She made it. 


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait (again) but I hope it will be somewhat worth it! Quarantine is starting to drive me slowly insane, but writing this is helping (or at least providing a different sort of insanity) - so all my love and thanks to everyone on the journey with me, and for all your wonderful support and kind words - they mean the world. I do hope everyone is still keeping safe and as sane as possible.

Between passing out on his bathroom floor and waking again Jack was aware of relatively little. 

Mac had roused him enough to help him walk to bed, make him drink a glass of water and swallow two paracetamol, shoving a thermometer in his mouth and frowning angrily down at it – all this he remembered – but after that everything was reasonably hazy. 

Distantly, he thought he heard the sound of the doctor’s voice on the other side of his door. He assumed on the phone (and hoped like anything not to Phryne, but the two of them were thick as thieves and he very much didn’t like his chances there). 

After that the world descended into little except chills and sweat, his body aching and heavy and his head spinning. 

He wasn’t altogether sure if he was conscious or sleeping half the time, his mind swirling with images, unsure whether they were even memories or simply dreams – but soon he found himself surrendering to the onslaught quite happily, nevertheless. 

*

_“I’ll kill him.”_

_“Let’s not be hasty.”_

_“No, Jack, I’m going to_ kill _him,” she fumed, and he sighed, shaking his head fondly._

_“Well, if you are, you probably shouldn’t have started out by mentioning your plans to a Senior Detective, should you?” he shot back, throwing his keys onto his hall table and kicking off his shoes._

_There was something deeply comforting about the way she so often seemed to call just as he was getting home_ _–_ _as if she were greeting him without being there_ _–_ _and it made the stark emptiness of his flat seem brighter somehow._

_“You wouldn’t arrest me,” she countered, tone turning light and flirtatious. “You love me far too much to be so unsympathetic to my plight.”_

_Jack cleared his throat, trying not to let her words affect him noticeably._

_Phryne had no idea, really, quite how much he did love her_ _–_ _he was only just coming to realise himself, after all._

 _“Having sympathy for_ why _you choose to commit patricide has absolutely no bearing on the legality of said patricide, regardless of how much I might love you.”_

_He tried quite staunchly not to think about the fact that this was the first time he’d ever expressed the sentiment aloud._

_She huffed. “I wouldn’t arrest_ you _for patricide,” she argued, and he chuckled._

 _“You_ can’t _arrest anyone for patricide,” he pointed out. “You have no jurisdiction.”_

_“I could perform a citizen's arrest.”_

_“Well it’s a moot point_ _–_ _since I can’t commit patricide anymore, either way,” the words came out with a joking tone_ _–_ _meant thus_ _–_ _but as he said them he felt the reality of them hit._

_He had no father to kill, anymore, even should he feel so inclined._

_The wound was still fresh enough that it robbed him of further speech._

_On the other end of the phone, he heard Phryne let out a soft breath. “Oh, Jack, I’m…” she hesitated. “I’m so sorry.”_

_He shook his head, staring at his fridge where he had made his way towards it in search of dinner, and sighed._

_“It’s fine.”_

_“No,” she breathed. “No, it’s not, I never should have… it was a thoughtless thing to say.”_

_“Phryne, just because I loved my father doesn’t mean you can’t hate yours.”_

_“I know,” she whispered. “But I’m still sorry.”_

_“Don’t be,” he replied, painting a smile onto his face and hoping she’d hear it in his voice. “You’re adorable when you’re contemplating murder.”_

_She let out a huff of laughter, and his smile turned genuine at the sound of it. “Do you think that would stand as a defence in court?”_

_“Absolutely not, no,” he grinned._

_She sighed, long and frustrated. “Oh fine. How was your day, anyway_ _–_ _anything exciting happen? I swear if I have to miss one more case whilst he’s over here because he_ couldn’t possibly _find his way around the city he grew up in alone I’m going to_ _–_ _”_

_“Commit patricide?”_

_“No comment.”_

_“And_ now _I’d say you’re ready for court,” he joked, leaning back against the counter and letting the sound of her soft laughter wash over him._

_“Well?” she pressed. “Anything good? Anyone get tragically stabbed or shot or… I don’t know, smothered by their daughter with their own cravat?”_

_“Plausible deniability, Phryne,” Jack quipped. “Give me some.”_

_“Just a random thought,” she replied, voice rising in pitch to that particular tone of false innocence that she did so well. “Absolutely nothing behind it, you understand.”_

_“Of course not.”_

_“But_ was _anyone?”_

_Jack hummed, enjoying dragging it out. She was such a joy to tease, after all._

_“Jaaaaaack,” Phryne whined. “Please?”_

_“Well,” he answered, finally, smiling conspiratorially at a fridge magnet. “I did have something come up today_ _–_ _but it’s a very sensitive case, I couldn’t possibly discuss it over the phone.”_

 _“_ Jack _.”_

 _“I’m serious_ _–_ _it’s all highly classified. I wouldn’t mind some assistance on it, in truth, but I can only divulge the details in person.”_

 _There was the briefest moment’s pause from the other end, then, “I can be there in half an hour_ _–_ _just need to tell Dad he’s fending for himself for dinner.”_

_“Excellent – and you would like?”_

_“Chinese,” she answered, “from the place on the corner, not the one across the road.”_

_“See you in a bit, then.”_

_“Can’t wait,” she breathed_ _–_ _and the joy in the words had his stupid heart beating far too fast to mean anything good._

_He really should get a hold of this before it got out of hand, but no matter how hard he tried, Jack found that every day that passed he just fell that bit more in love with Phryne Fisher._

*

_“Inspector Robinson?”_

_“Speaking,” Jack answered as he shut the door, juggling the bags of food, phone held carefully between his ear and his shoulder._

_“This is Constable Martin, with St Kilda Police. You’ve been requested at the scene of an accident, sir,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “Gentleman by the name of Henry Fisher asked for you, says it’s his daughter’s vehicle and could you come straight away?”_

_Jack’s world seemed, for a moment, to entirely stop spinning on its axis._

_“Sorry?” he asked, blinking against the panic and confusion._

_“There’s been a collision, sir_ _–_ _on St Kilda Road, one fatality. Mr. Fisher was involved in the crash and insisted we should call you, sir. He’s beside himself_ _–_ _won’t speak to anyone else.”_

_Jack was positive his heart stopped beating._

_“One fatality?” he pressed, the words choked._

_“Yes, sir,” Martin continued, business-like, as if his very words weren’t ripping Jack’s heart into shreds. “Female, I’d guess late thirties though there’s no ID on her_ _–_ _she was in the car with Mr. Fisher, sir, so I'm assuming it's the daughter – but like I said he refuses to cooperate or say anything further until you’ve arrived. Are you available to attend, sir_ _–_ _or shall I maybe have him sent to your station?”_

 _Jack couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think_ _–_ _his vision blurring. How did you breathe, again? He seemed to have quite forgotten. The bags of food slipped from his hands, scattering chow mein across the floor_ _–_ _though he barely noticed, barely cared._

_“Sir?”_

_This couldn’t be happening, couldn’t be real._

_He felt sick._

_And also nothing._

_And like the very ground was falling away from under his feet._

_“Are you there, sir?”_

_He needed to say something, to reply, but he found his tongue sat heavily in his mouth, weighted by a grief that had yet to fully manifest._

_“Inspector?”_

_“Yes,” he croaked, a rasping aspirant of a word, not quite formed enough to be fully classed as proper speech._

_“Will you come, sir?” Martin asked, and Jack choked down the emotion that he felt coating his throat._

_“Yes, constable.” These, at least, sounded more human and he let that knowledge propel the rest of the sentence from him. “I’ll be right there.”_

_“Thank you, sir,” the constable replied, and Jack stood motionless, apathetic, as he listed off the address. He hung up with only another mumbled thanks, and then promptly sank to his knees, head falling to his hands._

_He didn’t cry. He wasn’t sure he had it in him._

_He sat unmoving for several minutes before finally rising again, grabbing his keys and his jacket in a haze and heading out the door to go and face heartbreak._

*

 _He was still staring at the wreckage when his phone started buzzing, lighting up in his hand_ _–_ _her name illuminating the screen._

_Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or cry._

_He moved to answer as if in a daze, eyes fixed on the body_ _–_ _bloodied, broken, pale._

It could have been her _, his mind whispered._ It would have been her.

 _He’d_ thought _it had been her._

 _Right until the moment he had peered into the crumpled remains of her Porsche and seen a body that was decidedly_ not _her._

_This woman was blonde, for starters._

_Then Henry had been there_ _–_ _held back by uniforms but calling him over_ _–_ _and Jack had felt the sudden and violent urge to punch the man in the face. Admittedly, given the stories Phryne had to tell of his parenting, not for the first time_ _–_ _but the compulsion had rarely been so strong._

 _It wouldn’t help, though, he knew that_ _–_ _and so he had choked down the apparently needless grief and gone to speak to him, biting his tongue as the man recounted how he and his ‘friend’ had just borrowed Phryne’s car to go for a drive, and that a drunk driver had run them off the road_ _–_ _none of it his fault, of course._

_A strange, sadistic part of Jack had almost hoped it was a lie, had hoped that it had been Henry’s fault and he could send the man down for it if only for the sheer fucking agony his recklessness had briefly caused him._

_Witnesses had confirmed another car's involvement, though, and Jack had commanded Henry to go with the uniforms to give a statement in full_ _–_ _assuring the man that all would be fine, rather than any of the far less pleasant things he wanted to say to him._

_Then he had returned to stare at the wreckage of her car, at the body inside it, and found himself spiralling once more._

_“Jack!” she exclaimed when he lifted the phone to his ear_ _–_ _before he had even spoken himself. “Where are you? I’m here and I’m hungry_ _–_ _you better have got spring rolls.”_

_She sounded so normal, so upbeat, like the entire world hadn’t stopped turning for half an hour this evening._

_Like_ his _world hadn’t stopped turning, thinking she was gone from it._

_He found himself irrationally angry at her in consequence._

_“I had to go out,” he replied, keeping his voice as emotionless as he could manage, ignoring the echoing ache of the loss he’d thought he’d suffered that bounced around his very being, ignoring the buoyant joy the sound of her voice_ _–_ _happy, healthy,_ alive _–_ _countered it with._

 _He didn’t want any of it. Didn’t want to_ feel _anything, anymore._

_It was all just unbearable._

_“There was an incident I had to attend to, I’m sorry.” He wasn’t, and he was; he wanted this conversation over and wanted her to speak again and never stop_ _–_ _never wanted to stop hearing the sound of her voice and yet couldn’t bear to listen to it a moment longer. “You should probably call your father, he can explain.”_

_“My father? I… Jack, what’s going on? Where are you?”_

_“I can’t talk right now, Phryne, they need me here. I’m sorry,” he repeated the sentiment, but hung up on her, anyway._

_He was mildly ashamed of himself for it, somewhere, but he also didn’t know what else to do._

_He was furious at her_ _–_ _unjustly, perhaps, but furious nonetheless._

 _The worst part of this whole thing was that it_ could _have been her in that wrecked car, so easily_ _–_ _and without even the help of a drunk driver going the other direction. Her driving had always been such a cause of anxiety to him_ _–_ _reckless and risk-prone as she was_ _–_ _and as such he hadn’t even stopped to consider that she_ hadn’t _been the victim, to question why she might have been in a car with her father when she'd supposedly been on her way to Jack's alone._

 _He realised, now, staring at the crumpled, smoking wreck of a vehicle that he had seen her speed off in far too many times before_ _–_ _that a part of him had clearly been expecting this._

_Phryne was a disaster waiting to happen._

_She was_ heartbreak _waiting to happen and_ _–_ _preoccupied as he’d been with the exhilarating infancy of his feelings for her_ _–_ _this was not something that had occurred to him, yet._

 _Now, though, he felt it_ _–_ _keenly. Thirty minutes of thinking her lost had been enough to ruin him, and the idea of a lifetime of this pain was unthinkable._

_The likelihood of it happening, though, with the way she lived her life, was higher than he could bear._

_Surely, then, the only solution was to carve these feelings from himself before they could do more damage? To carve her from his life and his heart before she became so deeply rooted that her removal would leave nothing of him behind but scattered soil?_

_He didn’t want to live a life without her, but surely making the choice before things got out of hand would hurt less, eventually, than her being robbed from him when there was nothing of him left that she had not left a mark on?_

_Perhaps surviving without her was the only way to make sure he would go on surviving at all?_

*

Jack woke in a cold sweat, thrashing about in sheets that tangled around him. 

The room was dark, and he couldn’t make out anything, but his mind was full of nightmarish images. Crushed cars and crumpled corpses, of Phryne – bloodied, lifeless, _gone_. 

He cried out fitfully against the picture, tossing in his bed, breathing heavy. 

“No,” his mouth was dry, tongue heavy. 

A hand touched his shoulder, a glass pressing to his lips. 

“Drink,” a voice instructed, and he shook his head. 

“I have to get to her,” he insisted. He wasn’t sure what good it would do – she was broken, taken, dead. “I have to get to her,” he begged, anyway. “I have to see her.”

“She’ll be here soon,” the voice told him, soothing, though he didn’t understand. How could she be here if she was dead? “Now drink.”

He allowed the water, taking several breathless gulps, before sinking back into the pillows. 

“Keep her safe,” he mumbled, unsure why when it was already too late – but then feeling swam away again, clouded over with more swirling memories, and he lost himself back to them. 

*

You can’t ignore me forever.

_Jack stared at the text with his heart in his throat, fingers itching to respond._

_He missed her more than he ever would have thought possible, every day somehow harder rather than easier_ _–_ _certainly since she wasn’t allowing him much space to try and forget her._

_He couldn’t deny there was a treacherous part of him that was warmed by her stubbornness not to let him just disappear on her, but it made the whole thing all the harder._

_She had been joking, at first_ _–_ _almost glib, though never quite so cold as to reach it in fullness. She had called him, a lot, and when that hadn’t worked she had started texting. He was almost surprised that she hadn’t shown up at his flat_ _–_ _but he supposed that might have verged on appearing needy, and pigs might fly before Phryne Fisher ever stooped to those levels._

 _It was the right thing – or he was desperately trying to convince himself that it was_ _–_ _and so he quashed the urge to respond, turning his phone over where it sat beside his laptop and ignoring the message._

_It buzzed again several minutes later, though, and he sat staring at it for a long moment until, finally, he let out a soft groan of frustration with his own poor self-control and picked it up to check it._

Please can we just talk.

_He felt his throat tighten as he read the message, resolve wavering. Then it buzzed again._

I miss you, Jack. 

_That was that, really, he knew it as he read the words,_ _resistance well and truly starting to crumble; i_ _gnoring her was hard enough without her actually admitting any kind of_ pain _at their separation._

 _It wasn't like he really_ wanted _to be parted from her, anyway_ _–_ _and if she was just as unhappy about it as he felt..._

_Maybe talking wasn’t such a bad idea?_

_Maybe he_ could _still find a way to continue, to resume their friendship – just with his heart better guarded – instead of cutting her off completely?_

 _It was all so raw, though, and he didn’t know if he could do it, could face those emotions yet when he still felt so hollowed out by them. He needed more time, more headspace, he needed longer to sort out his thoughts_ _–_ _to truly reflect on whether he needed this separation to be permanent or not._

_He typed out a reply._

Can you give me a week, then we can talk? 

_Then, before he could think better of it._

I miss you, too. 

*

_It was strange how his fingers moved immediately to answer, considering he had been training himself (in the painful weeks since the incident) to not pick up her calls the moment he saw her name – yet this time, when he saw it, he knew that he had to._

_She had been respectful of his request for more time_ _–_ _hadn’t sent so much as a text for several days_ _–_ _and he couldn’t help but feel her calling was a bad sign._

_Especially since it was gone midnight._

_It brought the poorly contained panic of a few weeks prior spiralling back again._

_“Phryne?” he demanded, as soon as he answered._

_“Jack?” she gasped, and it did nothing to stem the flow of fear in him. “I’m sorry, I know I wasn’t meant to call yet, but I…” She trailed off, breathing shaky._

_“What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Phryne, what is it?”_

_“I just…” she took another breath. “I had another dream,” she whispered_ _–_ _and everything else fell away._

 _The dreams had started up again, so she’d told him, after Foyle_ _–_ _vivid, horrendous nightmares that had her waking in cold sweats and screaming in her sleep (this last he’d heard from an embarrassed and concerned Dot, who’d been working late one night and thought Phryne was being murdered in her bed)._

 _He had been there, though, gone through it with her_ _–_ _and knew, as well, of her other demons, the other nightmares of the past that swirled their way into the twisted cauldron of dreams to keep her nights restless._

 _Her calling him when it happened had become as regular as the dreams (which, perhaps coincidentally, had seemed themselves to have become relatively infrequent of late)._ _The street had not been one way, either, his own night terrors leading him to wake her up with a phone call more times than he honestly cared count, just so he could talk himself back to sense again._

 _It was something they had done for each other without reproach or question, and something that_ _–_ _even angry, even hurting_ _–_ _he didn’t know how to take from her now._

_The trauma they shared was bigger than his heartbreak._

_“Okay,” he replied, doing his best to keep his voice soft. “I’m here. Talk me through it.”_

_She did, talked him through the details of which horrors her subconscious had dredged back up for her on this occasion, talked out the ludicrous turns her brain had looped into the narrative for the sake of the dream. She realised aloud to him_ _–_ _as they both so often needed to_ _–_ _that those fears were irrational in waking, and in so doing finally managed to bring herself back down from the ledge._

_Eventually, she took a long, steadying breath._

_“Better?”_

_“Better,” she breathed. “Thank you.”_

_They fell silent for a moment then, finally, he murmured, “Phryne.”_

_Just as she whispered, “Jack, I…”_

_They both let out gentle huffs of laughter, and then went quiet again. He decided to let her speak_ _–_ _curious, despite himself, what she might say._

 _“I can’t say sorry, Jack,” she continued, voice quiet and pained. “It was a misunderstanding_ _–_ _and I_ hate _that you got hurt in it but it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t my fault, and I’m not going to apologise for it. And I know, I know, you said you needed more time and I am sorry for that because I should let you go now and discuss this later but… Jack, for fuck’s sake, are you_ really _planning to cut me out because of one little scare? Forever?”_

_He shook his head, eyes falling shut._

_The issue was that she just didn’t get_ why _he was so hurt. She didn’t understand what he’d been feeling before it happened, what he’d felt during_ _–_ _the sheer magnitude of his emotions and how the whole thing had come inches away from completely destroying him._

 _She didn’t understand because she didn’t know that he loved her_ _–_ _had never been meant to know, as incompatible as they were_ _–_ _and now, he was sure, absolutely never should._

_“It’s not about what happened, Phryne,” he murmured. “It’s about what could have happened. What could happen every day, the way you act.”_

_“I could get hit by a tram crossing the road, Jack,” she snapped. “Risk isn’t a reason not to be friends with someone.”_

_“Even if that risk hurts me?” he shot back, angry. “What, do you expect me to just sit around and wait for the tram, then? Hmm? Am I meant to sit by whilst you put yourself at constant risk? Keep my mouth shut and wait for impending disaster?” He was proud of himself that he managed not to call it heartache._

_“Well what do you expect_ me _to do?” she responded, her own irritation clearly rising. “Sit around crocheting and waiting for the bloody grass to grow? I’m not going to change who I am because who I am makes you uncomfortable, Jack! I’m not going to give up my way of life because_ you’re _scared.”_

 _“And I would never ask you to give it up, Phryne!” he exclaimed. “Don’t you get that? Who you are is precious and I would_ never _presume to change it_ _–_ _but that doesn’t mean it’s_ easy _. God, why do you think I haven’t been speaking to you? I’m not… I’m not just sulking because I thought you’d got yourself killed, I’m removing myself from the equation so I don’t have to suffer through it when you inevitably do!”_

_Silence fell again, cold and deathly._

_“Right,” she murmured, the word sharp. “So, I’m more trouble than I’m worth, then? Glad you managed to work that out before it became too emotionally inconvenient for you, Inspector.”_

_“Phryne,” he sighed. She was taking it all wrong_ _–_ _or he’d phrased it all wrong_ _–_ _either way it was_ wrong _and so very much not how he’d envisioned this conversation going._

 _Certainly since he’d rapidly been coming to the conclusion that he might have made a mistake in judging his priorities, anyway. Even a few weeks without her had been almost too dull to be bearable_ _–_ _despite his pain and anger_ _–_ _and her admission that she missed him had been swaying him dangerously._

 _“No,” she interrupted, though, before he could say anything else_ _–_ _before he could backtrack or apologise. “No, I get it. You’re allowed to go to work every day and face whatever you might with the damn Victoria Police and that’s_ fine _and everyone should just handle it_ _–_ _but God_ fucking _forbid anyone you care about live their life at the same level of risk, right? Because it’s alright for_ you _to die tragically, just not for any of the rest of us to.”_

 _She let out an angry huff of laughter, barreling on, “Tell me, Jack, is it that you’re so selfish that you just don’t want to be forced to feel anything_ _–_ _or is it some stupid, macho heroics thing? Is it that_ you’re _the only one ever allowed to put your life on the line?”_

 _Jack sat speechless for a moment, her words dousing the fire of his indignation –_ _an unexpectedly thrown bucket of ice water leaving him spluttering and frozen._

 _He hated to admit it_ _–_ _but maybe she did have a point there. He had joined the police straight out of school_ _–_ _to his father’s pride but his mother’s chagrin. She had been proud, too, he knew, but a husband and son in the firing line had been a lot for her to bear. She had borne it, though, with a gentle stoicism that meant Jack was never forced to feel guilty for what he did. No one in his life had made him feel guilty for it, in fact, not even Rosie (until perhaps the very end)_ _–_ _and she had had more reason than most._

 _Going undercover, removing himself from his life and his loved ones at extreme risk to his person_ _–_ _with no promise that he would necessarily even make it back_ _–_ _had been a significant cause of anxiety to them all._

 _They had stuck with him, though, through all of it. His parents, siblings, friends. Even though their marriage had never recovered, Rosie had still_ stayed _, had still waited faithfully for him all those months he’d been away. She hadn’t even had the benefit of being able to check in with him to see how he was._

_He had far less experience being on this side of it. As a boy his mother had protected them, mainly, from the insecurity of his father’s safety at work, and then Jack had been on the same side of the curtain as him until he’d retired._

_The fact was, he just wasn’t used to being the one worrying… so maybe she was right?_

_Maybe it_ had _made him selfish._

_“Well, I guess that answers that question,” she snapped in response to his extended silence, shaking him from his thoughts, and Jack felt a fresh wave of guilt._

_“Wait, Phryne,” he breathed. “I’m…”_

_It had hurt so much, thinking she was gone, and the idea of it happening_ _–_ _of its potential to happen at any point without any sort of warning_ _–_ _was no less unbearable now than it had been on that cursed day._

 _She_ was _right, though. He was just as likely (more, even) to fall foul of a drug dealer’s knife on an arrest as she was to crash her car. He spent half his life being shot at or otherwise having his life threatened, it was part of the job for him just as much as it was for her. Risk was simply a part of his existence_ _–_ _a part which he had chosen,_ chose _, every day he remained a police officer. In many ways, he was as inclined towards it as she was. Otherwise, he supposed, he would have become a gardener._

_Much as he loved his garden, though, he’d be bored bloody sick as a gardener._

_That was the problem, though. He just wasn’t used to loving someone so similar to him in that regard. He wasn’t used to being the one wondering if the person he loved was coming home safe every night._

_Abruptly, he wondered how his mother and Rosie really_ had _ever borne it._

_“I’m sorry,” he murmured, the words thick and heavy. “You’re right.”_

_He heard her take a breath, though she said nothing, waiting for him to continue._

_“I’m just… Rosie’s a teacher, Phryne,” he sighed_ _–_ _then, realising he had just used his ex-wife as an example – quickly continued, “My siblings are all in various office jobs. I have cop friends but they’re workmates, and it’s different_ _–_ _we all go in knowing that any of us might die on the job at any given moment and I think we get less attached as consequence. I don’t have an awful lot of close relationships in my life, and those I do have they’re… I’ve never really had to worry that someone I care about might not make it home, not like this, not... not like with you.”_

_“What about your father?” she pressed, though her voice was notably softer. “He was with the police.”_

_“He was,” Jack nodded to himself. “I never really understood, though, as a child. Mum made sure we never felt that same fear she must have been feeling every day.”_

_He sighed again, closing his eyes before confessing, “Phryne, I... you... you_ terrify _me… but you’re right.” He opened his eyes again, staring into the dark of his room. “I suppose I'm not in a position to say anything with what I do for a living.”_

 _“No,” she huffed. “You’re not.” There was a brief hesitation in which he almost wondered if she might just end the conversation, have done with him, anyway_ _–_ _but finally she spoke again, much quieter. “You terrify me, too, you know.”_

 _“Phryne,” he began_ _–_ _unsure what the ending was but needing to say her name regardless, but she cut him off again._

 _“No, Jack, let me say this. I’ve lost a lot in my life_ _–_ _I lost my_ sister _–_ _and you know more than almost anyone how much that hurt me, still hurts me. I don’t take pleasure in the idea that I could just as easily lose you_ _–_ _that one day you might go to arrest someone and simply not come back.” She let out a shaky breath, voice dropping lower, more earnest. “I don’t_ like _it, Jack, but your friendship just means more to me than that fear. It will always mean more to me than the fear. I know that that’s a choice I make_ _and you don't...” She cut herself off, swallowing down whatever she'd been about to say and falling quiet again for another moment in which all Jack could hear was the heavy thud of his own heartbeat, echoing out in mismatched time with the staccato of her breathing._

 _Finally, she spoke again, continuing in a solemn whisper. "Look, Jack, if you really don't feel that you can make the same choice then I’ll understand. If leaving's the right thing for you, then... then I guess you have to go_ _–_ _but, please, at least be honest about why you're doing it. Don’t excuse it to yourself by putting it on me.”_

 _And suddenly, it hit him_ _–_ _how it must look from her side._

 _She had done nothing, changed nothing about who she was. She was the same person he had always been friends with, always professed to know – to accept and understand and value_ _–_ _and yet here he was, when the going had got a little tough, trying to cut and run instead of face down the crueler realities of who they were as people._

 _Who they_ both _were._

 _It was true that she could just as easily be called to identify his body in a morgue as he could hers._ _Without the context of his feelings, too_ _–_ _of the added agony his love had caused to the situation_ _–_ _he supposed his cutting her off must have appeared all the more cowardly._

 _It was his right, he knew, to protect himself and his heart_ _– that's what he'd been trying to do, after all, and_ _she was even saying she’d understand if that was the ultimate choice that he made_ _–_ _but something else she’d said earlier struck him, hard, a boot in the gut of his brooding._

“So, I’m more trouble than I’m worth, then?”

 _And how could that_ possibly _be true? He had never had a friend quite like Phryne, never had a spirit so kindred that he felt at such ease around them. He hadn’t even realised how buried his burning joy for life had become in the days since his marriage had collapsed_ _–_ _not until she had stormed into his life, blowing the layers of ash away until he could breathe again, until those flames had the oxygen to reignite._

_The joy of her presence, surely, outweighed the fear of her theoretical absence – and he felt suddenly ashamed that he had ever tried to convince himself otherwise._

_Phryne Fisher was probably going to break his heart, one way or another, Jack knew_ _–_ _but, God, wouldn’t his life be that bit better in the meantime if she was still_ in _it?_

 _“You mean more to me, as well,” he whispered, emphatic. “I’m sorry for not seeing it sooner, for making it seem like you don’t matter to me. You_ do _matter, Phryne, you…” he trailed off, gulping down words that would reveal too much. “You matter,” he sighed, instead. “I was just scared.”_

_“I know,” she breathed, “It’s okay to be scared, Jack. You just can’t let it rule your life.”_

_“I know,” he echoed. “I don’t want it to, I just… I need to find a way to get used to it. The accident was…” He shook his head. “I just need to get used to it,” he repeated._

_Phryne was quiet for a long moment. “So… does that mean we're good?” she asked, eventually, the words so bizarrely insecure that he cursed his own cowardice, cursed the emotions that had caused him to act so rashly in cutting her out, cursed his heart for presuming to love her when it helped neither of them._

_Jack let out a heavy breath_ _–_ _aware, still, of the significance of his choice here. It wasn’t irreversible, not in the barest sense_ _–_ _but to choose one way or another now only to change his mind later would be nothing short of cruel. To tell her he could handle it, that he valued her more than hypothetical heartbreak, only to change his mind_ _–_ _to cut and run again when faced with a similar circumstance_ _–_ _would be almost inexcusable._

_He’d made the choice already, of course, minutes previously as he’d weighed the true value of her worth in his life. This was it, though, the moment of commitment._

_It was such a simple question she was asking_ _–_ _and yet she hadn’t a clue as to quite how seminal his answer truly was._

 _Unbeknownst to her, this would be him deciding to hand over his heart. Unsolicited as it was, unrequited as it might be_ _–_ _there was no longer a middle ground. He could not be her friend_ _–_ _the friend he had been, the friend she deserved_ _–_ _and also keep her at a distance. He could not reap the benefits of her virtues whilst not forgiving her her sins. If he continued now it would mean committing himself to loving her, silently, and accepting the price of whatever hurt it might bring him later._

_He could not choose to keep her, after all – in full knowledge of who she was – and then later punish her for his own feelings._

_He was almost certainly choosing heartbreak –_ _somewhere down the line –_ _but the sound of her breath, hitched and timorous (as she waited to see if he was going to dismiss her from his life for no crime other than being the same person she’d always been, waited to hear him confirm, after all, that she really was more trouble than she was worth to him), was enough to finally negate his fear of it._

_She was right, after all, that a life ruled by fear was no life at all, really._

_At the very least, since it seemed they were both terrified to some extent or other, they could be terrified together._

_Jack cleared his throat, swallowed_ _–_ _the motion heavy. “Yes,” he murmured, the word so comically quiet for all he meant by it. “Yeah… we’re good.”_

_On the other end of the phone, he heard her let out a heavy sigh of relief._

_“Good_ _–_ _because I have been_ dying _to talk to you about this new case I’m working. Did you know that it’s illegal to vacuum at night in Victoria? Well, I suppose you did_ _–_ _it’s sort of your job to know these things_ _–_ _but the question is what do you do when you can’t_ find _the vacuum-er? How do you pursue a noise complaint when there’s seemingly no one responsible for said noise?”_

 _Jack found his lips curling up into a smile at the sudden change in her tone, at the rapid jumble of words that told him, quite aside from her confession of the sentiment, that she really_ had _missed him._ _It was late, and he could do with some sleep_ _–_ _exhausted as he was from the emotional stress of recent weeks. Yet the sound of her voice_ _–_ _excited, exhilarated,_ alive _–_ _was so beautiful he didn’t think he could bear to stop listening to it yet. Besides which, he had to admit he was more than a little intrigued by the question._

 _“Well_ someone _has to be responsible,” he replied, allowing himself the indulgence of diving back into the game. “Was it a recording, or some sort of reflected sound? Was the complainant looking for a settlement from a landlord, were they just making the whole thing up?”_

 _“Nope!” she shot back, before launching into further explanation of her investigations. Jack settled back into his pillows, phone held tightly to his ear as if it might substitute itself for the warmth of her physical presence_ _–_ _and finally allowed himself to bask in the knowledge that she was_ still here _the way he had forbidden himself permission to so stubbornly whilst he tried to stay away._

_He let her voice wash over him, let its warmth and richness soothe the ache that he had been nursing since a constable had ripped his world to pieces over the phone._

_She was alive, she was well, she was still his friend_ _–_ _despite what he had thought the solution was and how he had acted in seeking it._

 _She was here, and they were good_ _–_ _and his world could keep on spinning again like it had done before._

 _He noted, though, when (hours later, after they had talked themselves silly in catching up on each other) he finally hung up the phone, placing it back on his night stand with a smile deep rooted across his face_ _–_ _his axis might just be tilted irrevocably._

*

Jack woke with a start, breathing heavy, the echoing ghosts of emotion haunting his muddled brain, confusing him further. 

His room was pitch black, his limbs heavy, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember how he had come to be there. 

“Just wait,” a voice reached him from beyond the dark of his doorway, “here, and this.”

“Mac, for the love of –”

“Put the damn mask on, Phryne, or I will drag you out of this flat by your bloody fringe.” 

Jack’s ears pricked up. _Phryne_. But how was she… he had just been speaking to her on the phone, just bid her goodnight – hadn’t he? He blinked against the weight of sleep, noting the dryness of his mouth, the ache in his bones – and remembered. He had not been speaking to her but dreaming of her, dreaming of a time before when they had nearly been parted. Of losing her, giving her up, being _without_ her. 

Perhaps dreaming was not the right word. 

“There – happy?”

That had been a long time ago, though, and they were far beyond it now – but she was meant to be away, wasn’t she? He must still be dreaming, still be lost in his fever. 

“Six feet, understand?”

“Mac, is that really –”

“ _Six feet_. Or I will take you straight home.”

“ _Fine_ – now will you just let me in!”

Memory came swimming back, everything – the epidemic, her desperate plight to return, his slowly worsening symptoms. The pleas for her to stay away and selfish wishes that she wouldn’t, the argument, the police, his panic, passing out on the bathroom floor…

The realisation that she might just be in love with him, too. 

“Jack?”

He looked up so fast it made his head – heavy as it felt – spin, and he found himself squinting against the harsh light that spilled through the open door, head falling quickly back to the pillows. 

She stood there, a darkened silhouette before the light, face hidden from him in shadow, her edges softened by the glow from behind. 

Jack was sure he must still be dreaming. 

He shifted, doing his best to pull himself upright where his limbs were uncooperative and mostly failing. His mind still flooded with questions – why, and when, and _how_ – but he found his tongue couldn’t quite wrap itself around any of them. 

“Phryne?” he asked instead, word rasping where his throat was dry, unsure where his mind was still scrambled. 

“Hello, Jack.” She sounded muffled, somehow, breathless – but undoubtedly like _her_. 

Could she be real? She _shouldn’t_ be real. Even if she had, somehow, made it back again she couldn’t possibly be here, in his flat – could she?

Even in his hazy state Jack was resolute that, if she was real – was Phryne, in the flesh, not some fevered hallucination – and was really standing in his bedroom whilst he was in the throes of the virus, then as soon as he could work out how to use his limbs again he was absolutely going to _kill her_. 

He might just need to kiss her first, though. 

That all depended, anyway, on regaining control over his body – a feat with which he found himself struggling. He could not keep his head upright, could not make his limbs move where he found himself so desperate to. 

“Jack?” she asked again, made a move to step closer before another shadow appeared, some way behind her, calling her name in warning. 

“ _Phryne_.”

“Jack?” she called, more insistent this time. “Jack, can you hear me?”

He wanted to say yes – even if he was dreaming her, even if she wasn’t real. He wanted to call back to her, to tell her that he heard her, saw her, wanted her. To tell her he was sorry, that he knew, that he had been foolish and blind and if he was right about everything he thought she might have been asking then his answer was _yes_ , resounding and sure. 

He wanted to say all of this, and more, but his damn mouth would not cooperate, his eyes falling closed despite his best efforts to keep them from doing so. 

He felt himself melting back into the pillows, his body heavy, mind clouding, felt sleep whispering around him again, stealing him back where he didn’t want to go.

If, of course, he had even been conscious in the first place. Jack found he couldn’t quite be sure, had no way to truly distinguish between his swirling dreams and reality. 

Finally, he gave up fighting, surrendering himself back again to drift in the current of his mind. 

He thought he heard her, once more, calling his name into the quiet. 

“I’m here, Jack. I’m home.” 

Then there was nothing once more. 


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~Time doesn't exist and that's why it disappears without any rhyme or reason.~~ Or, in other words, I'm sorry this took so damn long; please blame the sun for looping us into orbit and creating the illusion of time in the first place, and my brain demons, with whom I am in a furious game of mental whack-a-mole. 
> 
> Please beware of some incoming angst this chapter, just in case that's something you need to avoid for yourself right now, and hope everyone is keeping as well as can be expected <3

Phryne settled onto the chaise with an exaggerated huff, glaring at Mac through her phone screen, whiskey glass slung dejectedly in her other hand.

“Oh, would you stop sulking,” Mac huffed, rolling her eyes. “It was never like I was going to let you crawl into bed with him – you knew that.”

Phryne ground her jaw, swirling the liquid in her glass and letting out another irritated breath. 

She had known that – had repeated it to herself like a mantra the whole flight home. Had sat staring at the console, trying her best to engage with the excited chatter of the museum owner (quite _beside_ _himself_ as he was at the promise of a donation big enough to extend by another wing) and discuss the merits of the bi-plane for stealth bombing missions versus the more traditional second world war models. 

She had watched the grassy plains beneath her and reminded herself (as she’d felt her anticipation mount without any damn permission) that she was going home, yes, but still would only be able to see him from a distance. 

She had sat in the back of Mac’s car, leg bouncing as they drove through familiar streets, and done her best to tie down every compulsion she knew she would have to run straight to him, to wrap her arms around him and not let go. 

It helped no one, after all, if she got sick, too. 

And she knew that, objectively, had known that – but it still did nothing to assuage the agony of having to stand and watch him from the doorway whilst he fought for consciousness that did not seem inclined to stay. Even in the dim light from the hall she had been able to see the sheen of sweat on him, the bruise-like hollows under his eyes, the ghastly pallor that hung beneath his tan. 

The urge to go to him had been almost unbearable – and keeping her distance had felt so much worse than she’d ever expected it could. 

In the end she had simply had to flee, unconvinced of her ability to stay a moment longer and not do something monumentally stupid (like _actually_ crawl into bed with him). 

Mac had driven her straight home – blowing her a kiss from a careful distance and telling her she’d call her when she was back at Jack’s – and then Phryne had walked through her front door, poured herself a stiff drink, and promptly thrown it, glass and all, against the wall. Then she’d collapsed onto her chaise with a shuddering exhalation of breath and let her head fall to her hands as she waited for Mac to call her back.

She’d managed to fetch herself another whiskey by the time she did, staring into the glass and cursing her own blasted lack of control that meant she had fled back to her own house in the first place. 

It wasn’t like she would have been able to stay forever, anyway – being at Jack’s for too long increased her risk of infection, she knew this. Mac had explained it in very careful, pointed detail, in fact, insisting that she would get to see him but only in scheduled, distanced visits and only if she wore protective equipment and promised not to touch anything whilst she was there. 

It _wasn’t_ like she would just have been able to crawl into bed with him. And yet… she had come back _for him_ , hadn’t she? Had put aside all other concerns just for the explicit purpose of being back here, at his side – so how could she possibly now make peace with just sitting here in between times? How could it be that, after everything she’d done to get home, the realities of being back could be so frustratingly underwhelming? 

The whole situation was proving intolerable, and Phryne felt restless with it, like her skin was the wrong size for her body and she might just burst out of it at any moment. 

Or throw up – that felt like a distinct possibility, too.

She was exhausted – beyond exhausted – the entire day a nightmarish blur from waking, to the drive, to the flight, to now; sitting on her chaise with Mac on the other end of the phone, Jack silently sweating out a fever in the room next door to her. 

Half of her just wanted to sleep, to fall into her bed and lose herself to unconsciousness, wake up again hours and hours later and hope that by the time she did the world would have returned to normal. She was too wired, though, still too wound up on adrenaline, too frustrated – too _worried_ – to allow herself the privilege of rest. 

Instead, she sat and drank in moody silence, unable to bring herself, even, to respond to Mac. Eventually, her friend broke the hush – and Phryne looked up at where she’d propped her phone in a daze, blinking at the screen. 

“He’s still asleep,” Mac whispered, and Phryne startled to realise that she must have left the room and returned, leaving her phone behind, without Phryne even noticing. 

She really _did_ need sleep. 

“His temp hasn’t shifted but it hasn’t gone up, so I’ll take it. I’d say he’s stable for now, at least until the morning.”

“The morning?” Phryne blinked. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

Mac picked up her phone, shooting her a look that lost none of its potency through the screen. “Unlike you, I know when I need to go to bed – besides I’ve gotta be at the hospital in the morning. I’ll come by and check on him on my way to work, and you can visit again when you’ve slept if you promise to be good.”

“But…” Phryne swallowed. It wasn’t fair, really, to ask Mac to lose sleep just on Jack’s account – not when the woman had a host of her own patients to take care of – but she couldn’t stand the thought of him alone, suffering through his sickness with no one there to keep him company.

The thought of not being there had been unbearable enough with the knowledge that Mac was with him, but had she truly gone to all those lengths to get back here for him to be left alone, anyway?

So long as she was responsible about it there was really no reason she couldn’t take over from Mac, was there? Mac wouldn’t like it, obviously, but they could have the argument later. She had protective gear, she could isolate well enough in his guest bedroom (since she very much doubted he’d been in there in the last forty eight hours), order in food… there was plenty she could do to reduce the overall risks.

And she would _do_ all of it, happily, if only it meant she could be there. She’d been overwhelmed earlier when she’d told Mac to take her home, caught in the tempest of her own emotions – of seeing him, finally, semi-conscious and suffering, of being so close to him, to everything she wanted, and yet still so painfully far. It had been too much, and in the moment she hadn’t known what else to do but escape and try to catch her breath.

She’d caught it now, however, and now she could breathe she wanted nothing more than to go back. It would be horrible – being so close to him and still having to stay away – but she knew with dawning certainty that it was the lesser of many evil options. 

The walls of her house felt stifling, wrong, and her body itched with the need to go back to him.

She had _chosen_ him, after all – weighed Jack’s importance to her and found it heavier than almost anything. How could she make a choice like that and then content herself with nothing more than supervised visits? No matter that she'd known it was how it would have to be, regardless of how many times Mac had told her and she had told herself, the reality of it felt too much like falling at the final hurdle.

Phryne had never done things by halves, and she didn't feel inclined to start now, at this most important of moments.

No – she was going back to Jack’s, she decided, and she wasn’t leaving again until he was through this. There was no way in hell she was ever going to be able to just sit in her house, so close to him and yet so far, and _wait_. 

Vaguely, in amongst the tangled thoughts of her tired mind, Phryne wondered if that was precisely why he’d asked her not to come back in the first place – the knowledge that when it came down to it she'd never stay away – but she hadn't wanted to hear it then, and didn't now. They were a team, partners, facing down demons together. Of course she wasn't going to be able to content herself with staying away from him when there were battles to be fought. 

Not that she was going to tell Mac any of this, of course. 

“Alright,” Phryne sighed, instead. “Thank you.”

Mac narrowed her eyes at her, suspicion dancing briefly across her face but then settling back down again. “Get some bloody sleep, woman,” she said, finally. “I’ll update you in the morning, okay?”

Phryne nodded. “Thanks, Mac.”

“Ahuh,” she raised an eyebrow. “Alright, well g’night, darling. Love ya.”

“Love you, too,” Phryne tried to make the smile she shot her genuine, considering how much she had done for her today, though she wasn’t sure it made it all the way there. She put down the phone with a sigh, running her hands through her hair. 

Even if she managed to avoid infection, Mac was definitely going to kill her – but she knew this was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

Mind made up, Phryne finally rose – swaying slightly as she did so (though from whiskey or sheer exhaustion she just wasn’t sure) – and headed to her bedroom, snagging her bag on the way and emptying the contents onto the bed. 

It was only the work of ten minutes to repack and get herself ready to leave – then she nestled her lockpick into her pocket, slung the bag over her shoulder, and headed back out the door again. Briefly, she cursed the fact that her car was sitting impounded in a yard somewhere in New South Wales, but even she had to admit that she was far beyond the state in which she might be able to drive it, now. 

She debated walking – but it was a good hour and she really wasn’t sure she had that much left in her – so instead she slipped her mask back on and called an Uber, careful not to touch anything with bare hands as she slid into the back seat. 

Phryne watched the city disappear through the windows as they drove, observing the strange silence of it where she was so accustomed to the bustle. It had become one of her favourite parts of being back here – that steady heartbeat of activity that ran through the city – the constant movement of life just _happening_. 

It had even been the main thing she’d found herself missing whilst she’d been Outback… other than Jack, of course. 

Melbourne’s sudden quiet, she found, unsettled her almost more than anything else – the idea that something so seemingly trivial could grind those happenings to such an unceremonious halt. The idea that an invisible foe could bring a city, a country, to its knees in such a short space of time. It unsettled her that she had no way to fight this, was as ill-prepared and powerless as the next person. It unsettled her that, for once, she was lost as to how to win. 

It unsettled her that she couldn’t really do anything for Jack but _wait_ , wherever she might be doing that waiting, that what threatened him was not something in her power to actually save him from should it come to it. She would jump in front of a bullet to save his life without question or hesitation, but this… she could not bear the thought of losing him to something she had no way to protect him from. 

If the universe wanted to try and take him from her, it could at least put up a fair bloody fight. 

The flat was quiet when Phryne entered – not that she’d expected otherwise – but it still added to her unease, accustomed as she had become to the warmth of his greetings, to the way Jack’s flat felt as much home to her as her own house did. 

She made her way straight to the guest room, throwing her bag down and shrugging off her jacket before running a hand wearily across her forehead. She unzipped the bag, rummaging around until she found what she needed, and then changed quickly, slipping into pyjamas before snagging her phone charger and a pillow, re-securing her mask, and then padding back down the hall to Jack’s room. 

She pushed the door open slowly – just in case he was awake – but to no real surprise found him still dead to the world. She took a deep breath, standing and watching him for a moment, examining the tightness at his eyes even in sleep, the way his hair was curling stubbornly against his forehead – even dampened as it was with sweat. He looked tired, despite his lack of consciousness, like his body was exhausted from the effort of fighting his sickness, and Phryne fought down the wave of fear that swept at the shores of her carefully reclaimed calm, shutting the door quietly behind her and walking with determined steps to the chair that sat in the corner of the room, resisting that clawing itch that begged her to just go and climb onto the bed beside him. 

She settled in, curling her limbs up around the pillow until she was moderately comfortable, and let her eyes fall back to him in the dim light of the approaching dawn. 

It felt so strange, given the desperation that had been fuelling her, the fiery tempest of emotions she had battled, to be sitting here in such anticlimactic quiet. It felt wrong to be here, across the room from him, with him not even conscious to welcome her back; to smile at her in greeting or berate her for her foolishness in being there. 

Their silences had always been warm, companionable – a thing they shared for the sheer joy of each other’s company when they might not feel like talking. 

She was _used_ to his silence. 

Not like this, though. This silence was deafening – an almost tangible wall of separation between them – and as her gaze continued to roam his sleeping figure, Phryne couldn’t help but find it unbearable.

She had only had to endure the silence of separation from Jack like this once before – the situation wildly different, but the final effect oddly similar.

He had shut her out deliberately only once in their friendship, but it had been enough, more than enough, for her to realise how very much she wanted to be included in his silences. 

*

_“What are you doing right now?”_

_Phryne stared at the wine glass in front of her, eyes glazed. “Nothing.”_

_“Wrong, you’re coming out,” Mac replied. “We’re going to the Espy.”_

_Phryne sighed. “I don’t feel like going out, Mac.”_

_“Well tough, because you don’t get a say in it.”_

_“Mac_ – _” she started to protest, but her friend cut her off again._

 _“No, Phryne, listen to me_ – _brooding is not a good look on you. Especially over something as ridiculous as this.”_

_She bristled. “I fail to see how my best friend deciding he’d rather I didn’t exist anymore is a ridiculous thing to be upset over, Mac,” she grumbled._

_“Thought I was your best friend,” Mac quipped, and Phryne rolled her eyes._

_“You_ are _. Jack’s… my other best friend.”_

 _“Ahuh,” Mac hummed, in that tone of hers Phryne hated that said she didn’t believe her but was too sure of her own rightness to even bother arguing the point. “Well, whatever he is_ – _he’s still a_ man _. Last I checked, Phryne Fisher didn’t brood over men._ Any _men.”_

_Phryne shook her head, picking up her wine glass and swirling the liquid around in it, watching the rippling waves of burgundy before finally taking a sip and letting her head fall back against the sofa._

_Mac was right, really. She_ didn’t _brood, not over anyone. In fact, she had long (and happily) lived her life in a way that helpfully avoided the phenomenon_ – _and yet, she still found herself quite unable to shake this off. Unable to muster the strength of will to smile through it and dance away her troubles._

 _If she didn’t know better she might even think herself heartbroken_ – _certainly, a foolish part of her mind had bandied the word into her musings in recent weeks_ – _but that idea was clearly ludicrous._

_Heartbreak required being in love, after all, which she wasn’t. Obviously._

_She was just… heartsore. And furious, what was more._

_She was absolutely furious with him, and just itching for the chance to let him know it._

_If only he’d bloody_ talk _to her._

_“Darling, believe me, a good shag will make you feel better.”_

_She would have been inclined to agree with her_ _–_ had _agreed with her_ – _but the problem was that she’d already tried. She’d been right, too, it had made her feel better_ – _until the sweat had started cooling and she had found her thoughts invariably turning back to him again._

_To the fact that he had given her up like some pervicacious police dog at the first sign of real trouble._

_It had been a job getting the full story from her father_ – _mainly because he had embellished the truth with enough pantomime to try and wriggle out of the facts; that he had stolen her car to impress a prostitute and fatally destroyed both life and vehicle in the process. Once she had, though, and had calmed down enough from the utter fury that had had her packing his bags for him and marching him out of her house by the collar, she had tried to call Jack_ – _to no avail_ – _and realised with dawning dread that there might, potentially, have been one more fatality to add to the list._

 _She hadn’t been sure_ – _not a hundred percent (though from how her father had told the story she had more or less filled in the blanks)_ – _but after fruitless days of trying to call him, Phryne had eventually received a text that had made her heart sink._

They didn’t know who it was, Phryne, just whose car. That’s all I was told. I need some time.

 _That she had understood_ – _or_ tried _to_ – _although frankly she was sure that were the situation reversed, and she had thought him dead, space and time were the opposite of what she would need upon realising the miracle of the mistake._

 _She had not anticipated that it would go on like this, though_ – _had even tried to joke about his own brooding at first_ – _but weeks had gone by and the only other thing she’d had from him in response to her efforts, after an (admittedly slightly tipsy):_ Are you speaking to me again, yet? _Had just been:_ I can’t. 

_Then silence._

_That had been nearly a month ago, and she had finally had to start facing the troubling realisation that maybe Jack really_ had _decided to cut her loose._

_The coward._

_“Phryne?” Mac’s voice broke back through her musings, and she blinked._

_“What?”_

_“I’m serious,” her friend insisted. “You need to get over him.”_

_She scoffed. “I was never under him, Mac.”_

_“I really don’t need the gory details, darling.”_

_“I_ mean _we weren’t sleeping together_ – _you know that,” Phryne shot back, nails tapping against her glass in irritation. She didn’t know how many times she needed to have this damn conversation with her._

 _“As if I ever know what the fuck is going on with you two, Phryne. But I do know that whatever it is you need to get out of your bloody pyjamas and let a nice man with a six pack or a beard or… I don’t know_ – _something you straight people like_ – _give you a damn orgasm.”_

 _Phryne laughed at that_ – _a small huff, rueful rather than amused. “Oddly enough, I have already tried that, Mac.”_

_Mac was silent for a minute, then her voice came again, softer. “Honestly?”_

_“Mhmm.” Phryne took another sip of wine, closing her eyes. “Not that they weren’t all_ thoroughly _enjoyable encounters, but it did feel rather like putting a plaster over a compound fracture.”_

 _“Jesus,” Mac breathed, going quiet for several more moments in which Phryne opened her eyes again to stare at the ceiling. “Look, Phryne,” she said, finally, something cautious in her tone. “I mean it when I say I don’t know what’s going on between you two, I never do_ – _and it’s none of my business, at the end of the day. But, for the love of God, if it’s that bad you should just bloody talk to him.”_

_“I tried. He won’t speak to me,” she argued, though it sounded weak even to her own ears._

_It wasn’t like she was in the habit of taking no for an answer. She’d wanted to respect his wish for time, wanted to respect that he’d been hurting_ – _but this was starting to look and feel more and more like he wasn’t planning to come back to her, like he intended the separation to be permanent._

_All over one stupid misunderstanding._

_“So make him,” Mac replied. “I guarantee you that whatever’s going on his head he’s still at least as miserable as you are right now. Maybe the two of you just need to stop being stubborn babies and talk to each other like adults for once.”_

_Phryne opened her mouth to argue, defend herself_ – _but Mac continued._

 _“Right, change of plans,” she said, the words turning breezy. “You’re not going out, you’re texting him, and you’re sorting this shit out_ – _because one way or another you_ have _to stop brooding. It’s making me very uneasy, you know, like the world’s upside down. Phryne Fisher brooding_ – _I mean who knows what’ll be next? Maybe Dot and Hugh will finally have sex. Maybe your aunt will get herself a toyboy.” She gasped in mock horror. “Maybe I’ll start fancying someone with a penis.”_

 _At this, Phryne did laugh_ – _genuinely this time. “Alright, alright, point made.”_

_“You sure?” Mac joked. “Because I’ve got a whole other subplot where Bert and Cec wake up and decide they were in love all along, and Alice turns out to be a Russian spy.”_

_Phryne grinned, shaking her head fondly. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary_ – _though I appreciate it, all the same.”_

_“You going to text him, then?”_

_She sighed, eyes returning to her wine glass. “Yeah,” she breathed. “Yeah, fine, I’ll text him.”_

_“Good,” Mac hummed, sounding far too satisfied. “Well, then, I’ll leave you to it_ – _and I’m going to go get pissed and dance with beautiful women in case I wake up tomorrow with a craving for dick.”_

_Phryne rolled her eyes. “Somehow I highly doubt that’ll happen.”_

_“Yeah, well, can’t be too careful. Speak to you later?”_

_“Have fun_ – _don’t do anything I would do.”_

_Mac laughed. “Like turning into a soppy cow?”_

_“Oh bugger off, would you,” she shot back, though the words were affectionate. Despite her teasing, Mac had (somewhat unsurprisingly) been pretty helpful._

_The truth was she really_ didn’t _want to sit here brooding any longer. It was boring and unbecoming and most of all decidedly_ not her _. She had always encouraged people to feel their emotions, not to feel the need to crush them down or act ashamed of them_ – _but she was also not inclined to let herself be cowed by them, either._

 _Jack shutting her out so abruptly had hurt, and being without him_ – _suddenly, and after such a cold dismissal_ – _had made her realise precisely how deep-rooted he had become in her life, precisely how much she_ wanted _him there._ _This upheaval had been unpleasant, to say the least, and she knew without doubt that she’d no desire for it to prove permanent,_ _but whether it did or didn’t, she would still rather a firm answer than this interminable, silent limbo._

 _She didn’t feel inclined to simply let him walk off without looking back at the wreckage, either. If he truly wanted done with her, then fine. It would hurt_ – _God, it would hurt more than she might ever have anticipated_ – _but she would take it. He was going to have to face her to do it, though, going to have to face up to what walking away really meant._

 _If he was turning his back on her, on_ them – _their partnership, their friendship, this ridiculous, wonderful thing they had forged between them_ – _then he was going to have to actually speak the words._

_She was not about to let him smother her with his silence._

_With a heavy sigh, Phryne picked up her phone again, fiddling for several minutes as she debated what to say. Finally, after writing and deleting five or six messages, she swallowed down her nerves and pressed send._

You can’t ignore me forever.

 _She had borne many things in her life, and was prepared to bear more_ – _but Jack Robinson’s sulking bloody silence was not one of them._

 _She stared at the message for several minutes, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. She knew Jack, though_ – well – _knew how damn obstinate he could be._ _It wasn’t going to be enough, not alone. She picked up her phone again._

Please can we just talk.

_Then at least he’d know she wanted a conversation, a real one, rather than to brush this under the carpet, laugh it off and continue like it had never happened. Maybe if he bothered to face her he’d finally see how much his silence was hurting her. Maybe he’d understand that she at least deserved a damn conversation – even if it did have to end with them parting._

_Did he even realise how much this had affected her, she wondered. How unbearable she had been finding his absence?_ _Did he have the faintest clue how interminably dull she had found this six weeks of sudden, enforced separation from him?_

_Before she could think better of it, Phryne typed out another message, swallowing down her pride as she sent it._

I miss you, Jack.

_And it was as she stared at her own words, sitting in stark black lettering in their little blue bubble, that she could no longer keep from admitting to herself how painfully true they were._

*

That silence had been deliberate, of course – the one occasion Jack had actively sought to keep her distant – and this was a far cry from that (and, she had to assume, would at the very least be shorter), yet Phryne couldn’t help but note that it made her ache just the same. 

She would happily stay in her chair, a careful six feet away, for as long as necessary. It would be torment, but she would do it – if only she could have him back, conscious and _there_. If she could have this feeling of being so completely cut off from him gone. 

Ever since the accident – since those painful weeks of separation – the two of them had only grown closer; the broken bone remodelling itself and healing so much stronger than before. Even in weeks when work and life had kept them more or less away from each other, she’d always felt comfortable in the knowledge that he’d be there should she want him. She’d always known that however long their silences might stretch, now, she could rely on him to be there at the other end of them. 

In truth, the furthest she’d felt from him since that incident had been purely a question of geography. Though, if anything, her extended trip back to the UK had brought them closer still; the miles between them seeming to do nothing if not make them dangerously bolder. 

One night, Jack had even read her a damn love poem – and she had found herself all but ready to just bloody give up and spill her heart out in response, consequences be damned, until her father had interrupted her. 

Afterwards she’d assumed the interruption was for the best – since distance didn’t actually _change_ anything – and by the time they spoke again their careful boundaries had all seemed back in place once more. In all honesty, she hadn’t known whether she’d been disappointed or relieved. 

What she did know, though, was that whatever reticence she might still have had in her then, whatever hesitation had been left in the two months since she’d returned, the past twenty four hours might just have finally eradicated the last of it. 

She found, as she sat there staring at his sleeping silhouette through the dark, that it just didn’t _matter_ anymore, any of it. She didn’t care that putting her heart on the line likely meant rejection, she didn’t care that they were still misaligned, that there was no sense in it. She wanted to tell him. She wanted him to _know_ , whatever it might mean. 

More than anything, she just needed him to know that she loved him. 

For that, though, she sort of needed him to be awake – and that wasn’t looking likely anytime soon, so there was really no choice but to resolve to be patient a little longer. 

With a heavy sigh, Phryne settled further down into the chair, finally allowing her eyes to fall shut.

She still felt strung out, wired despite her exhaustion. There was fear curling absently at the back of her mind that even closing her eyes might lead to disaster – but she could hear Jack’s steady breathing in the stillness of the room, and she did her best to let it reassure her enough that she could give in to the long, long awaited sensation of unconsciousness. 

*

Phryne woke with a start, a half-terrified shout on her lips, mind a jumble of nightmarish images that had her scrabbling upright in her chair despite the protests of her tired limbs, eyes darting about the room until they fell on the doorway.

“Oh, fuck!” she exclaimed, jumping and pulling her pillow in front of her as if it might shield her from the berating she already knew she was about to receive.

“And good morning to you, too,” Mac greeted, arms folded across her chest, eyes hard above her mask. “You bloody liar.”

Phryne shifted in her chair, wincing as her stiff limbs protested the movement. “Mac, before you say anything –”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” 

Phryne rolled her eyes, rising from the chair and placing the pillow down carefully behind her before turning to face Mac’s simmering fury. 

“Listen, I know you’re –”

“Phryne,” Mac interrupted again, “What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

She swallowed, eyes flicking over to the bed to find Jack still stubbornly asleep, chest heaving, brow glistening in the sun that filtered through his windows with a still present sheen of sweat. She heard Mac let out a weary sigh before she even opened her mouth to reply. “I couldn’t leave him alone, Mac.”

“For the love of –” Mac groaned, shaking her head. “Phryne, forget what I think for a second, do you really think _Jack_ would want you to be putting yourself at risk like this? All for the sake of babysitting him whilst he’s unconscious?”

Phryne huffed at this, annoyed at the implications apparent in the question. “It’s not like he’d get a vote on it either way. It’s my decision, Mac.”

“Would you want him to do this, though? To sit by your bedside, endangering himself, when there was nothing he could actually do?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is the point,” she insisted, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Phryne, you don’t need to be here at all hours, it’s not worth it.”

She felt her mouth fall open. “How can you say that?” she demanded. “How can you say that when you _told_ me to come back so I could be with him?”

“I told you to come back so you could be here _in case_ ,” Mac corrected, raising a cautioning eyebrow. “I wanted to know you’d be able to see him if things got worse.”

“So you manipulated me into coming back for what, insurance? So I didn’t blame you in case he got bad and I wasn’t here?” Phryne scoffed, indignant. 

“No,” Mac ground her jaw, folding her arms across her chest defiantly. “I helped you realise that it would be better to be here to say goodbye to the man you love, if it came to it, than stranded somewhere unable to – I just made the mistake of thinking you might have the five damn minutes of self-preservation instinct necessary to stop you doing _exactly_ what you’re doing right now.”

The words brought Phryne up short, staring back at Mac, stunned. “How do you know that?” 

“Know what?”

“That I’m in love with him?”

Mac rolled her eyes with so much exaggeration Phryne briefly marvelled at the fact they didn’t fall straight from the sockets. “Phryne, darling, do you have any idea how unsubtle you are? We all _know_. Even your Aunt Prudence knows – I had to aggressively talk her out of picking you a wedding china with the reminder that you’d rather die than commit yourself to such a backwards, patriarchal tradition regardless how far gone you were.”

Phryne chuckled, though the action was more nervous than amused. Had she really been that obvious? To _everyone_? With a sudden surge of worry it occurred to her that if everyone else knew, then maybe Jack did, too – already – without any dramatic declarations of her own. Jack who had still, staunchly, been resisting her advances... 

“Wait, wait – does _Jack_ know?” she demanded, unable to stop the panicked words falling from her mouth. 

If Jack already knew and was still rejecting her then maybe… maybe that meant she'd have been about to make a total fool of herself with her newfound urge to confess? Or else… maybe it just meant she should have paid more attention to what he’d been saying with his damn poetry reading? He'd always been the less direct of the two of them, after all.

“Darling, that’s really not –” Mac’s words were interrupted, however, by a rattling intake of breath from the bed, and both women turned in unison to its source. 

Jack had not moved, but his mouth had fallen open and the steady rise and fall of his chest (that Phryne had taken such comfort in as she’d fallen asleep) appeared to have turned staccato, his breathing concerningly more rapid. 

Mac shot a glance to Phryne, eyes still firm. “Stay there,” she instructed, demeanour turning instantly professional again. Phryne obeyed – wasn’t sure she could disobey if she wanted to in this moment, paralysed as she was at the sight of Jack’s suddenly laboured breathing. Instead, she watched in silence as Mac picked up her bag and crossed the room, retrieving her stethoscope and starting to examine him. 

She worked methodically, listening to his chest before taking first his blood pressure, then temperature. Phryne stood with her arms folded across herself, her own breath hot and cloying where it escaped her rapidly behind the mask and gathered as if intent on choking her with her own freshly expelled worry. 

“Shit,” Mac cursed under her breath and Phryne watched the veil of concern descend over her eyes, pulse quickening in her own chest. She watched as Mac retrieved her oximeter, clipping it to Jack's finger and watching the screen with a furrow in her brow. “ _Shit_.”

“What is it?” Phryne asked, trepidation snowballing within her and freezing her where she stood. Mac shook her head, still staring down at the readings in front of her. “Mac?”

She watched, breathless, as the cogs seemed to turn in her friend’s eyes. Then she scooped up her stethoscope again without a word to listen to his chest once more. 

“ _Mac_?” she demanded again and, finally, she straightened, turning to face her. 

Phryne hated every inch of the expression that sat in her eyes. “I need to get him to hospital,” Mac replied, tone measured in a way that almost enraged her. “Now.”

“What? Why, what is it, what’s happening?” Her eyes darted to Jack and back again, desperately trying not to let her worry overwhelm her. 

“His bloody trigger happy immune system is what’s happening,” Mac grumbled, fishing out her phone – and before Phryne could shake herself to demand further explanation she was already talking to someone, requesting an ambulance and rattling off details faster than Phryne could even hope to follow, stunned and confused as she was. 

“ _Mac!_ ” Phryne exclaimed, the minute she was done, doing her best not to completely lose her temper when she knew, beneath her panic, that her friend was doing her best to help him. “Tell me what’s happening to him.”

Mac sighed, glancing to Jack where his breathing was becoming increasingly stuttered, his expression tight and pained. 

“It’s… Look, I don’t know for sure, Phryne, I need to get him to hospital and run some tests.”

“Well what do you _think_ it is?” she snapped. 

“I think he’s experiencing an exaggerated immune response to the virus. It happens sometimes in response to bad infections, especially flu viruses. It can lead to inflammation in the lungs, respiratory distress…” Mac trailed off, something unspoken hanging in her silence. 

Phryne stared at her. “What else?” she whispered.

Mac met her gaze steadily. “Unmanaged, it can lead to multiple organ failure.” Phryne swore she felt her heart stop for a moment, eyes falling to Jack, her own breath escaping her shakily. “But it’s not going to _go_ unmanaged, Phryne,” Mac continued, though Phryne found herself unable to look back at her despite the reassurance, unable to look anywhere but his face. “If that’s what’s happening then there are treatments we can try – and the sooner we start the better – that’s why I want to take him in now.”

Phryne raked her eyes over Jack’s body – so horribly still aside from his laboured breathing. Jack had always been a stillness to her own hyperactivity, a gentle calm to her fiery ebullience. Just like his silence, his stillness was not unusual to her – yet it felt so wrong now, like the universe was mocking her with traits she loved in him all twisted around and used as torture. 

“I'm going to call work,” Mac murmured. “Make sure everything's ready for when I get there.” With that she left the room, leaving Phryne to the quiet of her swirling thoughts for a moment. 

She was struggling, really, to wrap her head around the fact that this was happening. She had _just_ got back, just conquered all that distance and doubt to be here – and now this? God knew, once this was all over she was going to need to escape to that tropical island and drown in cocktails – assuming she could persuade Jack to come with her. Assuming he was in any fit shape to go, assuming he even...

She couldn't think it, though, couldn't comprehend how she had gone from talking to him not twelve hours ago – quibbling over nonsense matters – to this, to the unbearable possibility of losing him.

How could this have happened so fast? How could it be that something as ridiculous as flu could do this to him? For a brief moment, Phryne felt a surge of gratitude that Mac had talked her out of giving up in her moment of indecision, into coming back for the just in case. If this had happened and she hadn’t returned, if she had answered a phone call from quarantine somewhere in New South Wales to hear he had been hospitalised, she wasn’t sure what she might have done. 

She heard Mac reenter the room wordlessly behind her and paused, eyes on Jack’s closed ones, considering the coincidence of it all as their conversation from the night before drifted back through her mind. 

_“I mean what if I come back and I somehow spread it, what if I infect someone and they die – all because I wanted to be with him?”_

_“What if he dies?”_

Mac had persuaded her with a possibility that appeared far realer than she'd ever really anticipated, an argument that was proving all too accurate, and the coincidence of that – given Jack's state of good health – seemed... well, not so coincidental. But it had to be – surely? Mac couldn't have… 

_“But will you be able to live with yourself if he doesn’t pull through this and you weren’t here?”_

_“Do you think he might not?”_

_“That’s not the point.”_

“Did you know?” Phryne whispered the terrible thought aloud, deathly quiet, and she heard Mac still where she was repacking her bag. 

“What?”

Phryne tore her eyes back from Jack to her friend, fury threatening to ignite in the pit of her stomach. “Did you know this was going to happen to him? Is that why you were so adamant I get back?”

Mac raised an eyebrow. “You wanted to be back, Phryne.”

It was a non-answer, and it frustrated her all the more. 

“Did. You. Know?” she hissed – and the sympathy that pooled in the blue of Mac’s eyes was enough to answer the question before the words even escaped her. 

“We've already observed a high incidence of it happening with this strain – notably in patients who were otherwise fit and healthy. I knew he was at greater risk than he thought he was.”

“Or _I_ thought he was!” Phryne exclaimed. “Mac, how the _fuck_ could you not tell me about this? Jesus... is this why you’ve been so bloody anal about me keeping my distance?”

“Yes.” Mac shrugged, infuriatingly unapologetic in the motion. “If you get it then you’re at far higher risk than you think you are, Phryne. I knew you’d never forgive yourself if it went this way and you weren’t here for him, but I wanted to do what I could to keep you safe, as well.”

“Oh right, but Jack was fair game, was he?” 

Mac rolled her eyes, unmoved by Phryne’s anger in a way that only annoyed her further. It was an old tactic of her friend’s – keeping her own lid tightly on whilst Phryne boiled over by herself, letting her rage without rising to meet it and add further fuel to her fire. 

“Jack was already infected,” she replied. “I couldn’t undo that – but I’ve sure as hell been doing everything I can to try and help, you know that, and I’m going to keep doing exactly that once I get him to hospital.”

As if on cue, a knock echoed through the flat, and they turned towards it, Phryne’s panic flaring. She knew he needed to go – wanted him to go, if that was what was going to save him – but she also knew she wouldn’t be able to follow, and she doubted even she could get away with sneaking into a hospital during a lockdown, despite her expertise. 

Mac left the room without another word, and Phryne vaguely heard the noises of conversation drifting from the front door as she greeted the ambulance crew, though found her eyes falling back to Jack, ignoring the muffled voices as she stood processing. 

Too soon, Mac reentered, two uniformed paramedics hot on her heels, stretcher held between them. Phryne watched, transfixed and horrified, as they pulled the covers back, manoeuvring Jack from the bed to the waiting apparatus, strapping him in – careful yet businesslike – and her heart tightened at the sight. 

It was only after they’d lifted him, though, started to carry him out – away from her – that she finally managed to rouse herself enough to speak. 

“Wait!” she called. “Wait, wait, stop!”

Mac shot her a look that sat somewhere between warning and pity. “Phryne, the sooner we get him to hospital the better his chances are.” 

“I know,” she said, “I know, I just… God, Mac, please – I just need a moment.” 

Mac glanced to the paramedics and back again, considering.

“Isn’t this the ‘just in case’?” Phryne pressed, tone desperate, though she didn’t much care. “What you were just saying? Isn't _this_ why you told me to come back?” 

She watched Mac hang her head, waging a brief battle with herself. For the moment she took to deliberate, Phryne found herself quite unsure which answer she actually wanted. There was no doubt in her that Mac would let her have this should she truly think it necessary. After all, despite her lies of omission and fury at Phryne's bullheadedness, she really _had_ done everything she could to ensure Phryne got back here – and for this very reason. Yet, should she permit it, it would also serve as an admission of her own doubt as to Jack's fate that Phryne found she wanted nothing less than to hear. 

“Two minutes,” Mac agreed, eventually, nodding to the paramedics to put Jack down again – and Phryne felt her heart sink to her stomach. The paramedics shared equally confused looks but obeyed, setting down the stretcher and stepping out of the room. 

Mac looked at Phryne, hard, for a long moment, then sighed. She walked to her bag, reaching inside to pull out a box of gloves and placing them at the foot of the bed.

“Double glove,” she instructed. “Mask stays on. _Two minutes_ , Phryne, then we have to take him.”

Phryne nodded, and Mac retreated from the room with one last careful glance. She took a long, unsteady breath then crossed to the bed, retrieving gloves and pulling two onto each hand before stepping gingerly towards the stretcher and dropping to her knees beside him. 

It felt both wonderful and torturous to be this close, and she reached out a lightly trembling hand to push back his hair where it was slicked across his forehead. 

She was acutely aware of what this was, of what it could turn out to be (unceremoniously confirmed by Mac relenting to let her do it), yet she found that in this moment she had zero desire to actually treat it as such. She believed in him, in Mac – furious as she might still be with her – and she would not settle for this being their goodbye. Would not sit here and whisper confessions to him in acceptance that it might be the only chance she’d have to say them herself – and regardless whether he already knew. 

“Don’t die,” she told him, instead, tone steely, her gloved fingers moving through his damp hair with tender strokes. “Don’t you dare fucking die on me, Jack Robinson.” 

A part of her wanted to cry – scream, sob, wail – to cling to him and beg. She wouldn’t, though. She refused to mourn him before he was lost, refused to act as if he was already gone when she had to believe he wouldn’t be leaving her. Not now, and not like this.

Not when there was nothing she could do, and certainly not with everything left yet to happen between them. 

“You’re going to be fine,” she promised him. Promised herself. “You’re going to get better and then you and I need to have a serious bloody talk about your usage of Emily Dickinson.”

“Phryne?” She felt her heart leap at the mumbled word, eyes widening as his own cracked open just a slit. 

“Jack!”

“You’re home,” he rasped, and she nodded.

“Yes.”

“You’re alive.” She frowned at this, taken aback. 

“Of course I am,” she assured him, pulse hammering in her ears, fingers moving to his cheek. “You’re the one we need to worry about, Jack.”

“‘M fine.”

She chuckled, delighted and horrified, both. 

“You better be, Inspector.”

“Page thirty-two,” he murmured, then, and Phryne felt her brow crease again. 

“What?”

“Phryne?” Mac’s voice reached her from the doorway, and she whipped around, chest tightening. “We really have to go.”

She wanted to argue, but she knew it would be foolish. If Mac’s determined urgency was anything to go by, then delaying really could be fatal to him, and she’d be damned if she was going to kill him with her own selfishness. She stroked her hand once more across his cheek.

“Stay alive for me, Jack. Please,” she breathed, then stood, using every ounce of her own strength of will to withdraw from him, to step back into the corner of the room so the paramedics could come back. 

She watched them lift him again, arms wrapped tightly around herself. As they did, though, his head turned, eyes flickering open once more.

“Phryne,” he whispered, “page thirty-two.” 

Her lips parted, mouth opening in confusion to speak again, to ask for further clarification, but his eyes fluttered closed and she could do nothing but watch as they carried him through the door. Mac threw her back a quick look that was clearly intended to be comforting, though fell somewhat short, and then they were all gone – and Phryne stood staring at the space he'd been, left once more with only silence.


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*I get knocked down but I get up again, 2020 never gonna keep me down*_
> 
> Alright it doesn't scan but you get the idea. Jesus H. Christ, though, what a year this is. I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting again, in apology this chapter is about as long as it took me to write it. 
> 
> I'm sending all my love to Victoria - when I started writing this story I never imagined that this would, erm, actually happen, but I hope everyone both there and worldwide is continuing to stay safe and sane in these interesting times. 
> 
> Also last time I posted I was silent on the topic, for which there's no excuse. Thus I'd like to rectify that and just remind myself and everyone else that Black Lives Matter, and that pandemic or no pandemic the fight to dismantle systemic racism both in the US and internationally should still be forefront of all our minds and actions.

The worst part was that he heard it all. 

From Phryne’s startled cursing to her plea for him to live, Jack found that his mind – determined as it had been to drown him in nightmares and block him from reality – had awoken just enough at the sound of her voice to eavesdrop on events around him. Yet, still, he could not bring himself to stir. 

His limbs felt weighted, heavier than anything he could hope to lift; his tongue like a stone in his mouth, inanimate and useless where he found himself wishing so desperately to use it. He was aware, too, as the argument continued beside him, of crushing pain in his chest – each breath starting to feel taxing and uncomfortable. 

Despite the pain, the uncooperative obstinacy of his own body – at Phryne’s tortured question Jack found himself trying with all he had to answer. 

_“Wait, wait_ – _does_ Jack _know?”_

Yes. Yes – and how he wanted to tell her, how he wanted to apologise, explain, reassure her. Yet when he moved to speak all he found was a lack of air, all he managed was a rasping breath that he could follow only with another one, his own lungs betraying him. _Now_ , when it mattered most. 

Were he not a more practical man he’d have wondered that the pain in his chest wasn’t explicitly linked to Phryne’s own distress. As it was, he found himself concerned it might be rather more sublunary than that; a fear only confirmed by Mac’s confession minutes later. 

It hit him strangely, the knowledge of how serious his sickness might be. Briefly, he found himself as incandescent with rage as Phryne sounded, furious at Mac for withholding the information. His thoughts drifted back to his dreams, though, to the nightmares of Phryne broken in a crumpled car, and he understood. 

Whether it was their responsibility to do so or not – whether it was even _right_ or not – Jack couldn’t help but understand the desperate itch to protect her from herself. She had been relentless in her efforts to return even without the knowledge that this could happen, and he hated to think what more she would have done had she known. 

Still, it was with a deep sense of frustration that Jack became aware of the fact that he was going to be taken from her again just as they were reuniting – that he was being removed from her without even the chance to confess, without a chance for either of them to reconcile whatever torment lay in their hearts. 

What if he _did_ die? What if they carted him out of here, barely conscious and unable to speak, and he never saw her again? What if he died with her thinking he hadn’t wanted her, thinking he didn’t care for her as deeply and passionately as he did? 

He’d no particular desire to die in the first place – but dying right as they’d finally been on the bloody cusp of something would really take the piss. Not to mention it might perhaps be the cruelest thing he could do to her. If he were her, he probably wouldn’t forgive him for it. 

The dying, though – he was acutely aware – was probably more or less out of his hands. He’d do everything he could, cling to every breath in his body with an iron grip until the very end, but ultimately his survival was up to the fates to decide; and experience had taught him it was best not to put an awful lot of faith in those, in general. Jack had always preferred to make his own fate, wherever possible, anyway. 

It was something he and Phryne had always had in common. 

Thus, when he heard her stop them, when he felt himself being placed carefully down again, her fingers – shielded in latex but still _hers_ , and warm, and welcome – brushing against his skin, Jack knew he had to try again. 

If this was his last chance, he had to let her know. 

His mouth was a reluctant servant, though, resistant to his efforts – and once it finally moved to his command, it seemed heinously behind on matters. 

He knew she was here, knew she was alive – and yet his damn mouth saw fit to waste their precious seconds confirming it. It wasn’t coming, the thing he needed to say, wouldn’t untangle itself from the fevered web of his thoughts and make it to his tongue. 

_“I love you,”_ he thought, and yet his treacherous lips refused to form the words. Perhaps it was that they wanted to believe as little as he did that this would be their goodbye. Perhaps they couldn’t speak it because to do so would be to somehow give in to this invisible foe trying to defeat him. 

Perhaps they were just arseholes. 

Either way, he found himself desperate to do _something_ ; to let her know the truth even if he could not bring himself to a full confession. On this, at least, his recalcitrant words seemed to agree. 

“Page thirty-two,” he told her, and had to hope it would be enough, had to hope that his chance would come to confess later. 

If she stayed in the flat long enough it might be – he knew he’d left the book out somewhere after he’d tossed it to one side in frustration the previous morning. He’d had it out, really, since the night he’d read to her from it – letting it sit on his coffee table after she’d returned as a constant reminder to stop being a coward and fucking _talk_ to her. 

Fat lot of good that had done him. 

He hadn’t risked reading from it again whilst she’d been away; not to her, at least. In private he’d seemed quite unable to help himself – pouring over the words again and again and remembering the soft hitch of her breath as he’d read them to her, the strangely purposeful flirting that had come after. The whispered start of a sentence that had never completed itself.

 _“Jack, I…”_

Now, he couldn’t help but further agonise over what the other end of it might have been. Had she been about to confess, then? Nearly three months ago? Had she known then – been trying to ask for something when he had still been caught up on their differences, their perceived incompatibility? 

He’d known he loved her for so damn long but he’d been operating under the assumption that nothing could or would ever come of it. His revelation that that might not be true was so recent, and now he couldn’t help but wonder how long they’d been in love – knowing it, agonising over it – and still standing in their own way. 

He couldn’t help but replay all those conversations whilst she’d been away, all those damn clues he’d missed whilst he brooded silently to himself over poetry. 

*

_“Jane was asking after you.”_

_Jack’s heart warmed at the words, lips tugging up into a smile. “Oh? And how is my favourite Fisher?” he teased._

_Phryne let out a small huff of laughter, but didn’t rise to it, continuing seriously instead. “Good_ – _I think she’s far more taken with Paris than Melbourne, but the constant threat of my parents visiting may yet convince her she’s safer in the Southern Hemisphere.”_

_“Is that what persuaded you?” he asked._

_“Who says I’m coming back?” she joked, tone light, and yet it still made something tug at him uncomfortably._

_Life had, in the weeks she’d been away, continued quite normally. The world still spun, the sun still rose, and_ – _most importantly_ – _people still got murdered. Quite a few people, in fact. Between criminals, his siblings (who all took glee in pointing out how he had neglected them in recent months, preoccupied as he always seemed to be with a certain private detective), and the odd work drink, he’d even found himself quite_ busy _in her absence. It had been nice if only for the fact it made him feel slightly less pathetic for how much he still fucking_ missed _her._

_He’d let it (and whiskey) get something of the better of him in the first couple of weeks she’d been gone, but once he’d woken the following morning he’d let the sense that sunlight brought remind him that he needed to get ahold of himself before he did something stupid and scared her away. Or else left him heartbroken._

_Their equilibrium was so careful, so precious, and he’d be damned if he was going to let his own foolishness destroy it._

_“Well, if you don’t, can I have your car?”_

_She laughed, rich and full, and Jack’s smile widened into an answering grin. He turned his phone onto speaker, popping it on the kitchen counter as he gathered what he needed to start cooking._

_“It would be a crime to let you drive her, Jack. She’s made for speed, not limits.”_

_“Bit like her owner, then?”_

_“No comment. Why’d you sound far away?”_

_He turned his head from where it was inside his pan cupboard. “I’m in Australia?”_

_“Hilarious.”_

_He chuckled. “I’m making dinner.”_

_“That’s very rude of you, since I’m not there to eat it,” she whined, and he rolled his eyes. “Will you cook for me when I’m home? I miss your cooking.”_

_It was an absolutely ridiculous thing to get emotional over, truly, and yet Jack found the simple statement had him quite suddenly breathless. “I thought you weren’t coming home?” he shot back, hoping the joke would cover it, though unsure of his success._

_“Oh, I’d swim back if there was the promise of your biscuits in it.”_

_Jack swallowed, trying his best not to let their banter give him any foolish notions. “Seems like a lot of effort.”_

_“Well,” she hummed, tone softer than his sanity could altogether deal with, “some things are worth coming back for.”_

_Jack’s heartbeat quickened, and he turned his attention firmly back to the pan cupboard, over-dramatising the banging perhaps a little as he retrieved what he needed._

_“What was that?” he asked, as he returned to the island. It was cowardly, he knew, but after what had happened with the damn poetry he couldn’t afford to let himself get caught in this game again; lulled by the gentleness of her jokes into believing that something had changed. Somehow their banter had seemed safer when she was here, when he could look at her and see the lust that took the place in her eyes where he knew love sat in his, and he could remind himself that she did not want the same things as him._

_This distance was a torment of confusion, her voice_ – _without the grounding of her twinkling eyes and coy smiles_ – _sounded like a love letter he was sure she had no intention of writing._

_“Oh, nothing,” she sighed, and Jack frowned briefly down at his phone in perplexion at her sudden change of tone. Was she… disappointed? Could he have upset her in pretending not to hear? Maybe something had just happened on the other end to shift her mood?_

_Jack decided it was probably safer either way to change the subject. “So, more tax returns today is it?”_

_Phryne groaned. “I wish. Tax returns would probably be preferable to what I am going to be doing_ – _which is wrestling my father to his solicitor’s office to go over the will.”_

_“Ouch.”_

_“You’re telling me.”_

_“Is it necessary?” he asked, grabbing a couple of potatoes and placing them on the chopping board, starting to quarter them as she spoke._

_“Considering I found out they haven’t updated it since we first moved to England? Mm, I’d say it’s pretty necessary.”_

_Jack let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Jesus.”_

_She sighed. “Yeah.”_

_“Right_ – _well good luck with that, then,” he told her with a sarcastic huff of laughter, tossing the potatoes into the pan._

_There was the briefest hesitation on the other end, then Phryne spoke, tone mildly affronted. “Was that a dismissal, Jack?”_

_“What?” he demanded, startled. “No_ – _no, of course not.”_

_“Hmm,” she replied, clearly sceptical, going quiet for a moment before speaking again. “You seem weird today. Did something happen at work?”_

_Jack turned his attention from the pan to his phone where it lay on the counter, brow creasing. “No? No, I’m just…”_ Missing you _, his brain supplied unhelpfully._ Confused. Wishing you were home so I could remember why I’m not supposed to be reading you love poetry and spilling my heart out. _“Tired,” he settled on. “I’m just tired, Phryne.”_

 _“Oh,” she murmured. “Okay, well_ – _I mean if you want to get on with cooking I can… I can leave you to it?”_

 _He didn’t want that, not really. He wanted her voice keeping him company for as long as she had time to spare him but the problem was that it was just getting so damn_ hard _. It was getting so hard to speak to her without saying something they’d both regret._

 _He didn’t know what it was_ – _if it was the distance or something more_ – _but he found that the need to tell her was becoming more and more with each day that passed, a living, breathing, demand within him that was becoming volatile and desperate in a way it had never felt before._

 _He felt like he might explode with the words at any given moment_ – _and the last thing he wanted was to push her away when she was already on the other side of the world._

 _“Thanks,” he replied, trying to make the word warm despite the frustration in him. “Sorry_ – _I’ll text you later?”_

_“Of course,” she said, strangely high-pitched. “Speak to you soon?”_

_“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, speak to you soon.”_

_He cooked his dinner in moody silence after that, glaring at the fish in his frying pan as if it had personally offended him and then plating it up only to find himself no longer all that hungry._

_He retreated back to his living room, collapsing to the sofa and briefly letting his head fall to his hands before looking up again._

_The book stared at him from the coffee table._

_If he weren’t vehemently anti harming books in any way, Jack thought he’d probably burn the damn thing. As it was, he thought he should potentially consider donating it to a worthy (and somewhat less lugubrious) home._

_He picked it up, anyway, flipping through to the offending page and glaring down at the words that sat there, sighing. He could glare at them all he liked, but he knew that it wouldn’t change anything about their veracity._

_Futile the winds, indeed_ – _or at least the distance. The fact was his heart was so firmly anchored in her port that Jack was coming to wonder what it might actually mean for his future._

_It wasn’t like he’d been eager to look for love again after Rosie. Divorce had taken a toll on him and he’d far from been feeling the urge to move on to someone new in the aftermath. When Jack loved, he loved deeply, and the idea of trying to heal himself by patching over his failure with insincere romances had just never appealed._

_That wasn’t to say, however, that he’d planned to never love again. On the contrary, when he and Rosie had finally made the decision Jack had had a fleeting moment of joy at the knowledge of his own freedom. He’d been sad at the finality of it all, of course, at finally acknowledging failure and ending that chapter of his life, but he couldn’t deny that once the paperwork had been filed Jack had briefly considered the idea that maybe one day he might be able to try again. That maybe another marriage lay in his future_ – _one that he wouldn’t fail at, this time._

_Of course, he never could have foreseen the whirlwind named Phryne Fisher that had blown into his life between that moment and receiving the certificate that actually proclaimed him a free man. He never could have foreseen how hopelessly in love with her he’d fall. Had he, he might have pulled himself aside for a stern talking to before it had ever got so out of hand._

_He didn’t regret her, not a day of it, not one moment of her presence or her friendship. Jack treasured each moment he’d had with her more than he could rightly say_ – _yet the question still lingered._

_What did his future hold?_

_Jack would never be so bold as to call it ‘their’ future, there was no ‘them’, after all. His heart might belong to Phryne but that certainly didn’t mean hers belonged to him. Their friendship, though, the love that they had aside from his ridiculous desire for romance_ – _could that be enough for him? He’d thought one day he’d remarry, thought one day he would have another go at the romance that had fallen through his fingers on his first try._

_He had always seen himself being married, being someone’s partner; getting up to face the world side by side every day and growing old together. It was out of the question with Phryne, but that left him with the rather uncomfortable query of what that meant for him._

_If he truly wanted to get married again, to have that kind of life, then he was going to have to do it with another woman, going to have to_ move on _, and find someone else’s harbour to anchor his hopeless heart in._

_What would that mean for their friendship, though? Could he move on, truly, with his life so wonderfully full of the person he’d be attempting to move on from? Could he fall out of love with her when their lives were so messily intertwined?_

_Did he really_ want _to?_

 _Jack sighed, thumb brushing over the page beneath it. The simple answer was that he didn’t know, had never really stopped to think about it_ – _never_ allowed _himself to, he supposed._

_It was probably pointless mulling over it now, anyway, when distance and longing was playing on his mind with a mawkish kind of fatalism. The logical thing to do would be to address the issue with himself when she was home again, to take stock when she returned and then perhaps start to consider whether moving on somehow mightn’t be better for them both in the long run._

_Whatever happened, he knew he couldn’t live with losing her completely, so he needed to consider his options carefully, either way._

_It could wait, though_ – _would wait_ – _for now he just wanted to allow himself to miss her. The words beneath his fingers stayed resolutely etched there, comforting and mocking both, and with a sigh Jack turned the page, letting out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle as he did so._

 _He didn’t know what he’d expected, really, in a book of poetry, but if the words he’d just flipped away from reflected how he felt, then the ones that stared up at him now reflected what he_ wished _. What he wished to say, to express; what he wished she’d want to hear from him._

 _It was a beautiful poem_ – _as beautiful as the one he’d already read her_ – _and maybe in some alternate universe where it was something she wanted, it would be the poem he’d give her to finally, unequivocally declare his love._

_It was sentimental to the point of idiocy, but Jack found his finger reaching for the top of the page, folding the corner down over the little number thirty-two to mark it._

_It didn’t matter, ultimately, what happened when she returned; what mattered now was how he felt, how_ she _made him feel. His love for her was unconditional, always had been_ – _however it pained him_ – _and maybe words like this would serve as a good reminder of that for when he was feeling maudlin with the hopelessness of it all._

 _Whatever happened, what mattered was that_ he _loved_ her _. How requited it was made little difference. Whether she knew it, whether she felt the same_ – _it was all immaterial. She had him, had his heart, and even if ultimately he decided to attempt to move on from her romantically, she would always have his friendship._

_He was hers, romantically or otherwise, and he couldn’t ever let her doubt it._

*

With hindsight, Jack could do nothing but curse his own ridiculous self-involvement. 

He had been selfish – so selfish – so caught up in his own longing that he’d been absolutely blind to everything else. 

How long had she loved him? How long had she known? How much bloody time had they wasted silently pining for each other whilst everyone around them had seen a truth they’d been ignoring themselves? 

How long had he unintentionally left her doubting his feelings?

It was foolish, he knew, lamenting what could have been. He could no more change the past than he could magically cure himself now, and yet – as he lay half-aware in the back of an ambulance, Mac sitting quietly by his side – Jack couldn’t help but chastise himself for it. He couldn’t help but agonise over the pain he might have caused her with his own carefully constructed narrative about their relationship. His own self-righteousness in not saying anything, resigning himself to loving her silently whilst ignoring the damn hints she had been throwing at him. 

He should have just told her the night she got back. Should have hobbled back to her house with a broken toe and given her the welcome his heart had wanted to at the airport.

He should have realised that nothing mattered but her _before_ they’d been reunited in the first place. 

*

At baggage claim, not long now 🎉

_Jack’s heartbeat quickened at the message, fingers tapping an agitated rhythm against his leg as he stood waiting._

_The six weeks she’d been gone had dragged more and more with each day_ – _and his heart had been dangerously close to exploding into confession with the suspense of it all. He needed her back if only to bring them down to normality again, to restore a balance that had wobbled perilously close to a fall without the grounding realism of her presence._

 _The doors in front of him opened and closed incessantly as passengers arrived from their various flights, and around him Jack was aware of the warming sights of reunion in all its forms. To his left he noticed a couple who were clearly_ very _happy to be in each other’s presence again and quite unbothered what anyone in the vicinity might think about it. Jack did his best not to let it give him any silly ideas._

_His eyes wandered the crowds of friends, families, and lovers alike as they celebrated their joy at meeting again, his own anticipation mounting._

_He’d known she was coming back_ – _she’d been clear that she intended to_ – _and yet the fear that something might distract her, that an adventure more exciting than Melbourne’s run-of-the-mill criminals might seize her attention and make her change her mind, had been hanging over him the whole time she’d been gone._

 _Phryne was a law unto herself_ – _he neither judged nor resented that about her_ – _yet he couldn’t deny that it was a source of silent concern to him. The idea hung in his heart, always, that one day she might get bored of the life she’d built in Australia and fly off in search of thrills elsewhere without looking back again. Or not for a while, at least._

 _A tiny part of him had almost_ expected _her not to return again from this trip. Not because he didn’t trust her, didn’t believe her when she’d said she was returning, but because he_ knew _her. He knew that, whatever her original intent, should a compelling enough mystery cross her path she could quite easily find herself unable to resist the distraction of it._

 _He wouldn’t even have blamed her had that been the case_ – _would likely have been jealous of the excitement._

 _The fact was she hadn’t, though. She had not been caught by the scent of intrigue and pulled further away again but instead had returned just as she’d promised she would_ – _and now she was back._ Here _, just a set of double doors between them when there had been thousands of miles for so many weeks._

_Jack could barely breathe but for the relief of it._

_In his hand his phone buzzed again, and he raised it to look, heart pounding._

Nice suit xx

_He looked up again, eyes searching the crowd in front of him eagerly but coming up blank._

Nice arse, too

_Jack whipped around so fast he nearly fell over his own feet, stilling again immediately his eyes fell on her._

_Phryne was standing six feet away, leaning nonchalantly against one of her suitcases with her phone in one hand, a shit-eating grin on her face. Jack felt his breath catch as he looked at her, eyes raking up and down her body as if needing to examine her top to bottom to prove that she was real; that she was really_ home _._

_“Hello, Jack,” she greeted him, the words breathless but loud enough for him to hear over the space left between them, her eyes sparkling._

_“Hi,” he breathed in response, still somewhat shell-shocked. Then she was moving (skipping across the six feet of space with far more energy than anyone coming off thirty hours of travel should rightly have) and throwing herself at him. She flung her arms around his neck, body slamming into his, and Jack stumbled a little in surprise as he caught her, his own arms responding to her presence by snaking around her waist._

_She hugged him tightly, with no appearance she intended to let go any time soon, her face burying itself in his neck as she rocked them gently side to side before stilling, hold tightening further._

_Jack surrendered to the feel of it, allowing himself the brief indulgence of the joy of just holding her, of having her back, here, in his arms._

_“Missed you,” she whispered against him, and Jack’s stomach flipped._

_“You too,” he confessed, softly, into her hair, squeezing her a little tighter, taking conscious control where his arms had acted of their own accord at first. “Although the peace and quiet’s been a Godsend.”_

_“Hey!” she exclaimed, pulling back though not letting go of his arms, not retreating nearly far enough for Jack’s fast-beating heart. Her face was so close still, her eyes sparkling up at him full of humour and light and something slightly awed that wasn’t helping him get his breath back in the slightest._

God _, he had missed her. He had missed her so much he almost wanted to cry in relief at the feel of her._

_“I know for a fact you’ve been bored to tears without me,” she teased, and Jack rolled his eyes. His thumbs, though, he noted were stroking against her arms where they were both still clinging tightly to each other. He had absolutely not given them permission to do so and he was vaguely aware that he should probably stop._

_He didn’t._

_“Oh?” he shot back, instead, smiling. “And who told you that?”_

_She smirked, hands sliding from where they were clinging to his upper arms to rest against his chest. After all these weeks of going without it, in getting lost in the hypnotic swell of emotions in her voice, Jack found the positively wicked expression that spread across her face the strangest of comforts._

_“You did, Inspector,” she purred, and the seductive tilt of her lips probably should have broken his heart yet he found nothing but comfort in the familiarity of it._

_He chuckled in response. “Ah, well_ – _I must have been drunk.”_

_Phryne rolled her eyes, but said nothing further, simply staring back up at him, and Jack swallowed – aware again of how damn close she was._

_Briefly, he thought about how much he wanted to kiss her, about the screaming insistence in each of his nerve endings that reminded him how little effort it would take in this position to close the space and press his mouth to hers._

_Phryne’s eyes were wide and delighted where they watched him, her body pressed unapologetically to his, lips slightly parted, and_ – _Jack noted, with a tiny thrill of excitement down his spine_ – _she appeared oddly breathless. She looked for all the world like she_ wanted _him to kiss her, and Jack found any hope of further speech dying in his throat as his mind tried to process that._

_“Excuse me, miss?”_

_The both of them startled, whatever trance they’d been in breaking and arms falling away from each other as they turned to the voice. Jack watched in fascination as he saw a sharp wave of irritation pass over Phryne’s face before she schooled it back into a smile._

_Probably the jet lag, he supposed._

_“Yes?” she asked the young woman who was hanging awkwardly to one side of them, looking at once tentative and awestruck._

_Ah._

_“Are you… are you Phryne Fisher?” she asked._

_Since the nasty experiences she’d had with the press when she first inherited, Phryne had more or less tried to remain out of the spotlight. Jack knew she struggled constantly between her desire for privacy and wanting to stay relevant enough to wield what influence she could. It was easier to be an activist if you were already a public figure, after all_ – _but it was by far her least favourite part of being an heiress. This didn’t happen all that often, in fairness, but she was still well known enough that there was always the chance._

_He knew she didn’t normally mind that much, either, since most of the attention tended to come from young women who were moved by this or that interview she’d done on equal rights. It was why she kept doing them, she’d told him once, worth the occasional violation of her privacy to be able to add her voice to debate and move other people to action. Still, this was far from the best timing an admirer had ever chosen._

_Jack watched the tiny tick in her jaw as she fought to maintain the smile._

_“Guilty as charged,” she sing-songed, and the young woman gasped in delight._

_“Oh my god_ – _would you sign something for me?”_

_She blinked, but to her credit the smile stayed firmly in position. “Of course. Do you have something?”_

_“Just a minute!” The woman fumbled with her bag for a moment before producing a small notebook and a pen and handing them over._

_“What’s your name?” Phryne asked, tone cordial enough though Jack could hear the edge in it._

_“Rebecca.”_

_She scribbled out a quick note, signing it with a flourish before handing it back with another smile. “There you go, Rebecca.”_

_“Thanks!” she grinned, then straightened. “Actually, full confession, I work at The Globe_ – _I don’t suppose I could get a statement from you, could I? I’m new and I could really do with a chance to get ahead of the scoop?”_

_Jack watched Phryne’s eyes harden slightly, though the smile still remained fixed. “A statement about what?”_

_Rebecca shrugged, nonchalant though something devious had sparked to life in her eyes. “How about your relationship with Detective Inspector Robinson?”_

_Jack’s mouth fell open, but Phryne was already responding, words sharp. “Excuse me?”_

_The reporter looked between the two of them, lips curling into a smile. “Well, you’re clearly more than just work partners, aren’t you. I could tip off friends at gossip sites, but if you made a proper statement to me now then perhaps we can make sure the story that runs is complimentary and your inspector there doesn’t get into any trouble with his superiors over the fact he's actually screwing the woman sticking her nose into confidential police investigations.”_

_Jack bristled, anger flaring up within him, and he took a step forward_ – _ready to tell her to bugger off and take her bullshit journalism style with her_ – _but Phryne’s hand on his chest stopped him._

_“You’re new to the job, did you say?” Phryne asked, tone measured and unreadable._

_“Started at Christmas.”_

_“Right.” She nodded. “Word of advice, then, Rebecca_ – _threatening people for a story,_ especially _people who’ve been travelling for thirty hours, is the start of a slippery slope that’s more than likely going to end up with Inspector Robinson and me finding your body face down in the Yarra.” Phryne fixed her with a hard stare. “Don’t ambush people, don’t blackmail people_ – _then maybe you’ll turn into a good journalist. The kind that doesn’t need to hang around airports looking for non-stories to try and make an impression.”_

 _Jack watched, slightly dumbstruck, as she fished out her purse and dug around in it for a moment. “Here’s my card,” she said, handing it over to the equally speechless young woman. “Call me when you have a real idea for a story_ – _maybe something about equal pay or domestic violence._ Then _we can talk, alright? Come on, Jack.”_

_He barely registered her turning and marching to her luggage, staying frozen a moment before hurrying after and relieving her of one of her suitcases before following where she marched through the terminal without looking back again._

_She didn’t say another word until they reached the car, and Jack watched her carefully as she slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind her and then deflating. He shut his own door carefully, fastening his seatbelt before turning to look at her where she was staring exhaustedly ahead._

_“You alright over there?” he asked, doing his best not to be disappointed that the joy of their reunion had been so rude and unceremoniously interrupted._

_Phryne sighed, running a hand over her face. Whatever energy she’d appeared to have on greeting him seemed drained from her now, her face finally showing the weariness of the long journey that must have been sitting behind her excitement._

_“Just take me home, Jack,” she sighed, and he nodded._

_“Okay.”_

_They were silent for the drive, and Jack was happy to let her dwell in whatever thoughts might be swirling through her mind, happy just in the comfort of her being beside him_ – _but as he pulled onto the Esplanade Jack looked over to find her head lolling against the window, eyes shut._

_His heart tugged at the sight of it, and he did his utmost not to do something ridiculous like reaching over and tucking her hair back behind her ear. Instead, once he’d parked, he reached a hand out to her knee, shaking lightly._

_“Phryne?” he murmured. “Phryne, we’re back.”_

_She groaned, blinking awake again with an expression so indignant he couldn’t help but laugh at it._

_“What?”_

_“You’re home,” he chuckled. “Come on, you can go to bed now.”_

_Phryne stretched, yawning, but nodded, unfastening her belt and slipping from the car. Jack walked around to meet her, placing his hands on the back of her shoulders and marching her to the front gate._

_“Go on, I’ll bring your things.”_

_“No, no, I’ll help, it’s too much,” she argued, though another yawn followed immediately after._

_“It’s fine,” he assured her. “You’re exhausted, go on.”_

_“No,” she argued again, her tiredness turning into a whine that he shook his head at in amusement. “We were going to have dinner.”_

_Jack’s heart stuttered a little, and he reached for her again without thinking, needing the contact after having been without it so long, finding himself desperate to reassure her._

_“We only said we’d do dinner if you weren’t too tired,” he murmured, thumb rubbing reassuringly at her arm. “But I can come by for breakfast instead, if you want_ – _I took the day tomorrow.”_

_Phryne yawned again, then nodded. “How about brunch?” she asked with a smirk, and Jack laughed again._

_“Brunch is good, too. Go on, go to bed_ – _let me deal with this.”_

_She stood still for a minute, staring him down, then her shoulders relaxed as she seemed to concede._

_“Oh fine.” She glanced towards the house, then looked back at him with a tired sigh. “Thank you,” she whispered, and Jack swallowed around the lump it brought to his throat._

_“Of course.”_

_Phryne shot him another smile then headed for the house, and Jack moved to start getting her luggage._

_“Jack?” she called a moment later, and he looked up to where she was standing looking back at him, one hand on the door._

_“Yeah?”_

_He watched as she appeared to wrestle with herself, her lips slightly parted as she seemed to weigh her words._

_“I’m glad I’m back,” she said, finally, and Jack smiled back at her._

_“So am I.”_

_She grinned, then turned, disappearing up the path and into the house._

_Jack drove home in contemplative silence, overwhelmed by the swirling emotions of the evening._

_She was back and he was delighted._ She’d _seemed delighted, caught in his arms and staring up at him like he was truly the only thing in the world that mattered to her in that moment. Of all the ways he’d envisioned their reunion going, the reality had fallen far closer to his fantasies than the realism he’d expected, the moment before they’d been interrupted so full of unspoken longing he’d almost let himself believe that they_ might _end up kissing, after all._

_It was probably foolish, of course, and he wasn’t ignorant as to the lust in her eyes; the lust he had, in fact, been longing to see to ground him from the delusions half his brain had been trying to harbour in her absence._

_Strange, though, was the way it still didn’t bother him. He’d half expected the grounding reality of the want in her eyes (where her voice had been whispering more to him from ten thousand miles away) to upset him, he’d half expected her return_ – _and the reminder of their real status quo it would bring_ – _to be a disappointment._

_Instead, he simply felt buoyed by it._

_He threw his keys on the side as he entered the flat, wandering to the kitchen to work out what to make for dinner now his plans to eat with her had changed._

_Jack had spent a long time twisted and tormented over the idea of how unavailable she was to him, over the knowledge that his own needs meant he could never take that little which she’d always shamelessly hinted she was willing to give._

_He’d let himself get so lost in his ideals about what love_ should _be that he’d never really stopped to consider that maybe that wasn’t what it_ had _to be._

_He’d always been so resolute that he still wanted a marriage, a traditional commitment, that he’d never actively entertained the idea that perhaps he didn’t need that anymore._

_There wasn’t much by way of food in his fridge_ – _he’d yet to do his weekly grocery shop_ – _and Jack shrugged to himself as he grabbed a jar of pesto, deciding absently that that would do as his mind stayed firmly on other matters._

_Somewhere inside him, the pages of Jack’s heart fell open, mind and body still full of the overwhelming sense of joy and contentment he felt knowing she was back, home, curled up asleep in St Kilda and seemingly as happy to be reunited with him as he was her._

_His definition of love had been marriage for so long_ – _at least he’d thought it had been_ – _but suddenly he felt himself confronting a totally different meaning for it._

_It was just… her._

_She made him happier than he could remember being in longer than he even wanted to think about. She made him happier than he’d ever dreamed of being again when he’d returned from assignment to a broken marriage._

_She made him happier than he could imagine anyone ever making him again, even without a ring or a promise or any of those things he’d always held so important._

_He didn’t care anymore. He didn’t_ need _them, he realised._

 _God, he just needed_ her _. Herself, as she was, beside him; his friend, his partner, his lover if she was still open to it._

_Nothing else mattered anymore._

_Jack felt the breath leaving him as realisation slammed down, and the next thing he was aware of was blinding pain in his toes. He looked down to realise that the jar of pesto had slipped from his fingers in his surprise, and his socks had proved no match against the heavy glass._

_He swore, hopping up and down and cursing his own clumsiness, retreating to a stool and cradling his foot in one hand, staring down the jar where it lay innocently on the tiles._

_At least his foot had stopped it smashing, he supposed._

_Jack sat in stunned silence, fingers squeezing his throbbing toes against the pain, mind reeling._

_He loved her_ – _of course he did, he had done for more than a year now_ – _but he’d told himself resolutely that whole time that he could never have her. That she could never really be what he needed._

_Hell, halfway through her absence he’d even been considering ways to finally get over her._

_He’d been wrong, though. He’d been so damn wrong about it all._

_Whenever the amendment might have been made, somewhere inside himself his definitions had shifted. His_ needs _had shifted._

_Jack took another shaky breath as he finally processed what this meant._

_He could be with her. They could be with each other._

_They could_ have _something_ – _something even more than the beautiful thing they had already, something that could satisfy her lust and his love in ways he’d never believed could happen._

_They could have something._

_Jack was fairly sure_ – _once he finally rose again at the fridge’s beeping insistence and moved to replace the suicidal jar of pesto_ – _that at least one of his toes might actually be broken, but he found he didn’t really care._

_He hobbled around the kitchen making himself dinner, a lightness in his heart that almost overwhelmed him, a smile fixed across his face._

_He was ready, finally, to give in_ – _now all he had to do was tell her._

*

Jack found himself getting lost in the memories, his awareness of everything around him slowly dimming the eddying concern over his own foolishness. 

It was too late, of course, to do anything about it now – all he could do was hope that she would find the book, hope that she would find the dog-eared declaration he long ago should have just given her. 

Everything else was beyond his control now. 

Peripherally, he was aware of them arriving; of Mac barking orders at people, of being moved along brightly lit hallways and through the noises of a busy hospital. He was aware of the needles going into his hand, a tube down his throat, the bustle of activity beside him. He understood little of what was being said, but he took comfort, at least, in the fact that Mac seemed decisive and authoritative beside him (not that he’d ever have expected anything else from the doctor, eminently capable as he knew her to be). 

He was aware of people doing things around him, to him, aware in a somewhat detached state of people clearly trying their utmost to save his life. 

He was also, annoyingly, aware of how difficult he was finding it to breathe. 

Eventually, as they fussed and he fretted (more about Phryne than his own health, though he wasn’t _thrilled_ at the idea he could actually be dying), Jack felt awareness slipping from him. 

It wasn’t exactly peaceful; more it just _was_ , and with what remained of his consciousness Jack hoped with all he had left that this wouldn’t prove to be the end, that eventually he would wake up, would make it back from this.

If only so he could see her again. 

*

When Jack woke, his first thought was how heavy his limbs felt – like someone had set him in plaster and forgotten to remove it again. He wasn’t sure he could move even if he wanted to, but with the way his limbs all ached he wasn’t even sure he wanted to. 

His second thought was the realisation that he was, in fact, awake. 

He was conscious – and any doubts he might have had as to whether that might be the trick of a dying mind were swiftly disproved when his eyes cracked themselves open to bright lights and the sight of a nurse shuffling about at the end of his bed. 

He watched her pick up his chart and scribble something on it – mouth too dry and tongue too weighted to make any announcements as to his changed state – and took careful stock of himself. 

His body hurt – but not how it had before. His breath was coming easier than it had before, too, his lungs no longer feeling strained the way they had when the ambulance had come. He sucked in a gulp of air as if to prove this to himself, relishing the way that he could fill his own lungs, even if they still protested the enthusiasm of the motion. 

He twitched his fingers, letting the blood flow into them, curling them against the rough cotton of the sheets, and at the end of the bed the nurse looked up, blinking in surprise as she seemed to realise he was awake. 

“Mr. Robinson! Welcome back,” she said, voice warm. “How are you feeling?”

Jack blinked, his lips parting slightly though he wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak. The nurse seemed to understand. 

“Don’t worry if you’re feeling a bit groggy, that’s just the sedation – it’ll probably take you a while. Sit tight, I’ll go see if Dr. MacMillan is available.”

Her eyes crinkled with the smile he assumed was hiding behind her mask, the gesture reassuring either way, and she replaced the chart at the end of his bed before turning to leave the room. 

Jack lay still, reacquainting himself slowly with his body; digits first, then limbs. He sighed, once again enjoying the feeling of being able to pull air into his lungs, and let realisation dawn on him.

He was alive, still and again, and feeling… well, not wonderful. He felt a little like someone had stuck him inside a commercial grade washing machine and added an extra spin cycle, if he was being honest. 

Still, if that was the price for being alive, he’d more than take it. 

He wasn’t sure how many minutes passed exactly before Mac skidded through the doorway, face flushed and mildly out of breath, her eyes lighting above her mask as they met his across the room. 

“Jack!” she exclaimed before hurrying through the door, her attention shifting swiftly from his face to the host of equipment around him, checking, measuring, assessing. 

Once she seemed to satisfy herself she looked back at him, frowning down at where he still hadn’t quite managed to make any words form. 

“Jack?” she asked, calmer and far more professional than her initial greeting. “Can you hear me?”

Jack nodded, opening his mouth to try and answer, though Mac shook her head. 

“Don’t worry if it takes you a minute, that’s just the sedation.”

He coughed. “You sedated me?” The words were rasping and barely there, but he couldn’t help feel a little pride at finally forming them. 

The glint in Mac’s eyes told him the feeling was somewhat mutual.

“Mm,” she hummed, pulling a chair towards the bedside and taking a seat. “Believe me it was much better for you that way – it hasn’t been pretty. Besides, there was a hot minute there where I thought we were going to have to put you on a ventilator. You pushed through, though, for which I have to thank you. I’m running low on the damn things and I don’t like to use them unless absolutely necessary, anyway.”

Jack stared back at her, looking for words again but unsure exactly which he’d like to form even if he managed to. His brain was swimming – somewhat hazily – with a whole host of questions. First and foremost he supposed he’d like to know if this was it – if he was through it now and going to live. He also wanted some sort of explanation on _what_ exactly had happened to him, how he’d gone from having the flu to being so sick everyone had been worried he wouldn’t make it (himself included). He’d heard Mac’s apologetic report to Phryne, but he wasn’t sure he fully understood yet. Jack liked facts, explanations, and he wanted the full rundown on what had happened so he could better get his head around it.

More than that, though, more than any of it, he wanted to know where Phryne was. Wanted to know _how_ she was, and when he could talk to her. 

All he managed – to his utmost annoyance – was a slightly scratchy, “What?”

Mac chuckled, reaching out a gloved hand to pat him on the arm. 

“You’ve been here three days, you’re responding well to the treatment I put you on and I’m very optimistic about your recovery at this point. Other than being absolutely out of her mind worrying about you, she hasn’t yet started displaying any symptoms, and seems fine – though I’m keeping a careful, socially distanced eye on her, as well.”

Jack’s lips managed to tick up at the corners at this. He wasn’t sure if it was just Phryne that Mac knew too well at this point, or the both of them. 

“Not dying?” he whispered, and Mac laughed again – her relief palpable. 

“Not anymore – although you bloody tried for a minute there.” 

Jack managed a nod, but found that he was too weary suddenly to say much else, blinking against eyelids that seemed determined to close again. 

“Tell her?” he mumbled, though wasn’t altogether sure how coherently the words came out.

He felt Mac pat his arm again, though, and his lips curled up slightly in satisfaction as she replied. 

“I will, don’t worry. You just rest.”

*

When he woke the second time Jack was delighted to realise that he felt much less groggy than before. His limbs still felt heavy and tired, but his mind was immediately more alert, and he stretched his jaw curiously to find it seemed far more inclined to behave this time. 

Jack took a long breath, smiling a little to himself to find it easier again, and reached out a hand to the edge of his bed, searching for the controls. It took a while, his hand shaking and fingers a far cry from their usual dexterity, but eventually he clutched the remote and brought it to his chest with a huff of effort, pressing the button to lift himself. 

It was a little dizzying, being upright, but it felt good – made him feel more in control somehow – less like an invalid. He lay his head back against the pillow, breathing for a moment before turning his head again, eyes assessing the small cabinet at the side of his bed.

They’d left in a hurry, he remembered that, and there’d hardly been time to pack a bag, so it was unlikely there was anything of use to him in the drawers, but a tiny part of him almost hoped that his phone might be there. 

He was sure Mac would have let Phryne know he was alive, that he was recovering, but next to that there was plenty more to talk about, and Jack found himself desperately impatient to do so. 

His almost dying had been inconvenient enough without everything that had (or rather _hadn’t_ ) happened between them in amongst it, and now he seemed to be able to form coherent thought the knowledge of all that needed to be discussed weighed on him with uncomfortable urgency.

Jack stared at the drawers – which were out of his reach regardless of what they might hold, anyway – and sighed. 

He was nervous, he realised, horribly so. 

He’d guessed Phryne might love him right as the throes of fever had overtaken him, and then had the strangest confirmation whilst semi-conscious beside her. At the time, all he’d been able to think about was letting her know he felt the same, letting her know that – however foolish and blind he might have been – he returned whatever she might feel and more. He’d been panicking about it right up until he’d succumbed to sedation and had no consciousness left to panic with. 

Now, he couldn’t help but feel oddly self-conscious. 

He had heard her say it, he was sure he had – but he wasn’t altogether sure how well he could trust his fevered mind, and the fact remained that she hadn’t actually said it _to_ him. Not even as he’d been taken away from her. 

A tiny, insecure part of him couldn’t help but wonder if – if she’d even found it – she’d be receptive to the declaration he’d left her in the pages of a book. 

Logically, he knew that doubt was probably ridiculous. It was the same self-pitying denial that had led them to this mess in the first place. 

She’d _said_ she loved him, even if not directly to him. He’d heard it. 

And Mac had said she’d been worrying about him, which wouldn’t exactly be the case if she’d read the poem and been scared off by it. Would it?

Jack sighed. This was all, frankly, ridiculous. Clearly, they had been mis-communicating about their true feelings for far longer than was good for either of their sanity, and it was beyond time they had a conversation about it, whatever the outcome. 

He glared at the cabinet, wondering if he might be able to move enough to reach it and check for his phone. It probably wasn’t a particularly wise idea considering the number of tubes he was still attached to, but even more than his impatience at his own weakened state, Jack was impatient at the situation. 

They had been so damn _close_ , and he didn’t want to wait any longer. 

Didn’t want to keep her waiting any longer, if it was really true that she had been. 

God knew how long it was going to be until he was allowed to see her again, but if he could at least _talk_ to her – find out where they stood once and for all – he might be able to cope with it. 

Jack shifted slightly, edging his tired body as close to the side of the bed as he could manage and throwing out an arm. 

His fingertips just grazed the edge of the cabinet, and he groaned his irritation, shifting again and reaching further. He caught the corner again, trying to curl the ends of his fingers to wheel it closer, but to his dismay it only pushed the thing further away. 

“Fuck it,” he gasped out, falling back against the pillows, exhausted. 

“Having fun there, Inspector?” 

Jack looked up, startled, to where Mac was watching him from the doorway, arms folded across herself, an amused glint in her eye.

“I mean if you want to rip out your NG tube then by all means continue,” she said, walking into the room and coming to stand by the cabinet, arms still folded. “Otherwise you could just call a nurse like a normal person and ask for what you need.”

Jack let out an irritated huff, pushing himself up a little to face her. 

“I was just looking to see if my phone was here,” he murmured, aware – though not altogether caring – that his tone was dangerously close to that of a petulant child. 

“You’re in the ICU, Jack, you’re not allowed it.”

He ground his jaw. That seemed like his luck. 

“Then do you have an estimate for when I’ll be _out_ of the ICU?” he demanded.

Mac rolled her eyes and pulled up a chair. “Well, if you do something stupid like falling out of bed then not nearly as soon as you’d like.”

“I wasn’t going to fall out of bed,” he grumbled, and Mac just raised an eyebrow. She glanced at the cabinet and back again. 

“Go on, then,” she challenged. “You try reach it again – and whilst you do I’ll tell you all about the complications of urethral tearing from traumatic catheter removal.”

Jack winced. 

“Thought so,” Mac hummed, then stood, crossing to the cabinet herself and pulling open a draw, reaching inside. Jack’s heart leapt as he saw what she’d retrieved. 

She held the phone up in the air, staring him down with steel in her blue eyes. 

“Since your life is not currently reliant on any electrical equipment – and you’re not on a ward – I am going to allow you one phone call. Just one – I’m sure you’re familiar with that concept so I’m expecting you to respect it.”

Jack nodded eagerly, propping himself up further. 

“Not too long, either,” she added as she crossed to him, still holding the phone out of reach, “you need _rest_ Jack, your body’s been through it.” 

“I promise,” he agreed, eyes fixed on the phone in her hand. 

Mac sighed again. “You’re both ridiculous,” she murmured, though Jack got the distinct impression the words were more for herself than him. “Here you go.”

He did his best not to actually snatch the phone from her, holding up a lightly shaking hand and waiting for her to place it on his palm. 

“I’ll be back in half an hour.”

“Thank you, Mac,” he said, pouring as much sincerity as he could into the words. She let out a small huff of laughter. 

“Thank me later,” she instructed as she headed back towards the door. “I like single malt.”

Jack smiled back at her as she pulled the door to, then turned his attention to the phone in his hands, heartbeat quickening. 

He switched it on, nerves mounting as he waited, but finally the white glare disappeared, and he typed in his passcode with trembling fingers. 

His eyes fell to the green messages app in the top corner, mildly surprised to see a tiny red bubble with a ‘34’ in it. 

Someone had told his siblings he was sick then, he guessed. 

Taking a steadying breath, he pressed the icon, eyes focusing in on the message chain he was looking for. 

Her name was a couple down, underneath his brother and – oddly – Hugh, but it was the words that sat below her name that made him frown.

_Also I owe you a new broom_

Curious, he pressed her name – eyes widening a little at the uninterrupted chain of little grey bubbles – and scrolled to the top, starting to read. 

_I hate you_ , was first, and Jack couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh at it. 

He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it probably should have been that. He found it strangely comforting. 

_I swear to God, Jack, if this is your idea of a joke it’s not funny_

At that, though, he frowned again. He’d assumed the first message was a joke…

_If you die and I don’t find out what was on that bloody page I’m going to dig you up and kill you again_

Oh. 

_What the fuck is page 32??_

Oh shit. 

_I know you can’t answer but when you wake up I’m expecting one_

_Please wake up, Jack_

Jack felt his throat constrict, fingers tightening around his phone. After that there was a small gap, a tiny grey '14:37' indicating the passing hours since her previous plea, and then: _You should be proud of me, I’m cleaning._

This was an odd change of pace, and Jack took a small breath of relief at it, lips quirking upwards again. 

_Why do you have two hoovers? Who the fuck has two hoovers? Weirdo_

_I owe you a new hoover_

_Not my fault, it was being deliberately difficult_

Jack laughed, shaking his head in bemusement. Had she actually been cleaning his flat? 

_New plan, I’m gonna sweep instead. Who needs hoovers, they’re just a lazy man’s broom_

_I thought you respected books, Jack, why are you keeping them under your sofa_

He swallowed, suddenly nervous. He was careful with his books, always, if there’d been one under his sofa then…

_JACK ROBINSON ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME_

She’d found it, then. Jack kept reading, eyes glued to the successive chain of messages that followed, his heart hammering in his ears. 

_What does this even mean??_

_Obviously I can see what it means but does it actually mean what it means?_

_If it means what it means then why the hell couldn’t you tell me sooner?_

Guilt swarmed through him. It wasn't that he hadn't expected this response but reading the proof of her feeling it – when he had abandoned her to feel it alone as he slept on oblivious – was not altogether pleasant. Fruitless as it was, he cursed himself again for not just opening his mouth sooner. 

The feeling was not at all helped by the messages that appeared to have come around ten minutes later. 

_Do you really love me?_

_I know you can’t answer that. Sorry._

_I wish you could answer, you bastard._

Jack chuckled again, both pained and somewhat amused. He probably deserved that. 

_You’re not really a bastard I’m just mad at you_

_This isn’t fair, Jack, you can’t just leave me with this_

Jack swallowed, palms sweating. She was angry with him. God, this wasn’t what he’d wanted. What if she was still mad? What if she hadn’t wanted to know?

_You can’t just declare your love like that and then die on me, Jack. I need a chance to get the final word, you know that_

There was another brief gap then, and Jack's heart clenched as he saw what came next. He could only imagine what had happened in the space between the messages to cause the abrupt change of tone. 

_I swear if you die on me now_

_Please don’t fucking die_

_I need you to not die_

_I love you, Jack, you can’t die_

Jack stared at the final message, heart pounding, mouth half-open. 

She loved him? 

He’d known already – or thought he’d known – but here it was, in black and (almost) white, indisputable. 

She loved him. 

She’d _told_ him. 

He needed to speak to her. Now. He needed to tell her, too. Needed to give her more than a stupid poem, needed to tell her everything he’d been resisting telling her for so long.

His eyes fell down to the last message.

_Also I owe you a new broom_

Jack frowned at it, still none the wiser as to the context, and shook his head as he focused back on the important matter. He pressed call, raising the phone to his ear with fingers he tried in vain to stop trembling. 

It rang twice before her voice came and he closed his eyes at the sound of it, the familiarity washing over him. 

“Jack?” 

She sounded breathless – nervous, almost – and a little confused. 

“Hi,” he breathed, not trusting his own voice to say anymore just yet.

She hesitated. “I thought…” she cleared her throat. “Mac said you weren’t allowed to use your phone in the ICU.”

“I pleaded my case.” 

“Oh,” she hummed, and Jack felt his brow crease at her tone. 

He hadn’t been expecting gushing, exactly – this was Phryne, after all – but she didn’t seem all that happy to be hearing from him. 

“You okay?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle. This was such strange uncharted territory, and he had to admit that he himself was feeling a little nervous. Maybe that was the problem on her end, too? They’d both declared their love in every way except actually saying the words aloud to each other, and he could almost hear the confessions hanging in the air, impatiently waiting. They were no longer subtext, yet they hadn’t quite made it all their way to full text, either, and it was… strangely awkward.

Strange, mostly, because the one thing the two of them rarely were with each other was awkward. 

He didn’t much care for it. 

“Yeah,” she replied eventually, the word careful. She was silent for another moment, then, a little high-pitched, she continued, “Did you… did you see my messages?”

He couldn’t help his lips tugging up again. “I did.”

“Right,” she breathed, the nerves bleeding through completely this time, and Jack made a decision. “Listen, if you want to just ignore– ”

“I love you,” he said, not altogether meaning to interrupt her, but knowing – at her startled intake of breath – that he had to continue now he had. “I’m in love with you, Phryne, and I should have told you so long ago, and I’m sorry – and I’m sorry if you didn’t want to know but I think you do and I can’t bear the idea that I’ve been hurting you by keeping it to myself. I love you and I don’t care about marriage, or any of that. Just you. I want you, Phryne, I want you so much it’s been driving me mad, and if you don’t want me then that’s okay and we can forget I ever said anything, but _God_ , I love you so much and I wish I’d been brave enough to tell you sooner.”

He heard her take another breath, processing, and waited with his own breath held. 

“Did Emily Dickinson write that?”

He laughed, a bubbling release of tension, head falling back against the pillow in relief as the awkward tension of the moments prior evaporated at her lightly teasing tone. 

“No,” he replied, smirking, “not this time.”

“You’ve really got your money’s worth from that book, huh?” she added, the nervousness of before blessedly absent from her voice. 

“It’s certainly had its uses,” he agreed. 

They fell silent a moment – far more comfortable this time – then she took a shaky breath and broke it. 

“Jack?” 

“Yes?” he answered.

“I broke your broom.”

“I gathered.”

“And your hoover.”

“I’ve got two.”

She sighed, fell silent again, and Jack stared up at the ceiling with his smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth, waiting. 

“Jack?” she tried again, and his smirk widened into a smile. 

“Yes, Phryne?”

“I’m in love with you, too.”

And it was ridiculous – seeing as he already knew – but the sound of her saying the words aloud sent a joy he couldn’t have contained if he wanted to surging through him, heart thudding against his rib cage as he let the confession truly sink in. 

She loved him. 

“Yeah?” he breathed, unable to help himself, stupid as he knew he sounded. 

“Yeah,” her own voice was just as breathless – but wonderfully, wonderfully _sure_. 

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “Good job I didn’t die then.”

She let out a soft chuckle that wasn’t completely amused. “I would have bloody killed you.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“Thank you for the poem, Jack,” she whispered, then, and he smiled wider. 

“Thank you for coming back for me.”

“I thought you were mad about that?” she quipped. 

“You’re forgiven,” he shot back. “I thought _you_ were mad about the poem?”

“You’re forgiven,” she echoed. “Provisionally.”

“Only provisionally?” he laughed. “What are the provisions?”

“That you get better and come home to me,” she breathed, tone turning unexpectedly sincere again and leaving him a little dumbstruck. “I want to hear it in person.”

He took a breath, steadying himself. “I’ll do my best, Miss Fisher.” 

“You better, Inspector.”

Jack thought his heart might actually burst in his chest, grin fixed across his face so firmly that he was vaguely aware he probably looked like an idiot. The rapidity of his heart rate probably wasn’t that conducive to him making said recovery, either – but he had no desire to stop talking to her until such a time as Mac forced him to, so in deference to his own medical state he steered the conversation to a safer topic, settling further into his pillows as he did, bathing in the comfort of her voice. 

“Now, then, how about you explain to me why you’ve been mutilating my cleaning supplies?”


End file.
